Imogene Weaver
by Suni-Dlight
Summary: How on Earth does Sherlock manage to get all those messages out to the all of London? Maybe he doesn't do it himself. Maybe he has some help. Starts from Series III, episode 1,
1. Welcome Back

**A/N: SOooooooo I am a Sherlock fanatic. I've watched the "Empty Hearse" twice now and I am eagerly awaiting the second and third episodes (as they have not yet aired here yet :P). SO here is my spin on a new character named Imogene Weaver. I hope I captured John and Sherlock alright. Let me know what you think. As of now this is a oneshot. I may add more chapters as the series airs but that will depend on you, won't it ****. **

"That'll be 15 pounds, thanks." Imogene Weaver smiled politely at the man as he handed up his money, slipping it into the register as he left with his newly purchased books. She sighed as she heard the shop door ring again, signaling another customer.

_These days did tend to drag on, don't they_, Imogene thought as she glanced briefly at the clock. Especially now that . . . Well, it would do no good to dwell on it.

"Hello, Immy." Imogene looked up at the sound of the nickname, eyes wide in confusion. She smiled brightly at the man now standing in the front door, looking as awkward as could possibly be.

"Well John Watson," she said, sticking her hands into the front pockets of her apron. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

He gave her a little smile, hidden a bit under the new brush of hair on his upper lip. "You've been well Immy?"

"I have." Imogene reached up and switched off the light above her register. "Shall we go for coffee?"

"Don't you have to work?" He asked as she grabbed the keys from under the counter.

"I own the place, John." She brushed past him, opening the door and locking it, flipping the 'open' sign to 'close'. "If I say it's closed, it's closed."

They walked down the street to the nearest café, taking a seat in front. After the waitress had taken their order and disappeared inside, John leaned back in his chair, hands in his lap. "You've cut your hair."

Imogene reached up and fingered her now neck length brown curls. "Yes I thought it was time for a change. You, er, you've grown some."

"Ah yes," John muttered, running a finger across his new mustache. "Mrs. Hudson said it ages me."

It did just that. Imogene placed her hand over her mouth, pretending to cough to hide her smile. "You've gone to visit Mrs. Hudson then?"

"Yea, I just thought I'd pop in for a bit. She wasn't very happy with me."

"Can you blame her? It's been two years."

"Are you angry?"

"I'm –" Imogene stopped, resting her elbows on the table and her chin on top of her clasped hands as the waitress brought out his coffee and her tea. Of course she was angry. She had cared about John just as much as she had cared about . . . the other one. She didn't think it was fair that he had cut her off just because _he _had died. She had thought that they would be of some comfort to each other after everything, even if they hadn't known each other very long. She smiled at John again. "I'm glad to see you."

John smiled at her. She wasn't surprised that he couldn't tell. "I've met someone."

"Oh yeah!?" Imogene said leaning back in her seat as well. "What's her name?"

John tilted his head a bit. "You knew it was a woman?"

"Of course." Imogene shrugged her shoulders. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well uh . . . nevermind. Her name is Mary. I'm going to ask her to marry me, tonight."

"Lovely! Well that explains why you've come round."

"It's time to move on," John explained. "Don't you agree?"

"Sure. I have a date tonight as well."

"Very good."

The two old friends sat in silence for a moment sipping at their separate drinks. Imogene laughed softly. "You have to come around a lot more John, so we can afford these awkward silences."

John sighed, setting down his cup. "I am sorry Imogene. I thought – it was just . . . hard."

"I knew him for a long time, John," Imogene said, giving him a sad smile. "Imagine how hard it was for me. And then you just disappeared too."

"I'm sorry."

"You are forgiven." Imogene clapped her hands together. "Now I want to hear all about this Mary."

* * *

><p>After coffee with John, Imogene returned to her book store feeling a little lighter than she had. She really had missed John. He had become a big part of her life in those two years. The first time he had met her he had no clue how she could be involved with such a person as that man. But then again who wouldn't get caught up in that exciting life he had led.<p>

Perhaps she ought to go see Mrs. Hudson this evening before her date. She had kept contact with the older woman over the two years but didn't go over to 221B Baker street nearly as much as she should. She wouldn't pop upstairs, she couldn't. John was right about one thing. It was hard going there, looking at anything even remotely related to him without it hurting in some way. Still Mrs. Hudson worried, like a mother hen that woman was. The least Imogene could do was pay her a visit more often.

Imogene moved out of her slump when her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. She looked up at the clock. It was nearly four, meaning she could leave soon and meet her date. She pulled out her phone, turning on the screen.

_**I need you to send a message. SH**_

Imogene's phone dropped to the ground. She stood in shock for a moment, not quite sure how to respond. This – this couldn't be right. There was no way possible. There was no way –

She plopped down in the chair trying to control her breathing before she became light headed. She stared at the phone, not quite sure how to react. With a shaky hand, Imogene reached down and picked up her phone.

_John, is this you? This is a really sick joke._

She nearly slammed the phone down on the counter. If it were John she had a few choice words for him. But she knew it couldn't possibly be him. John was kind and considerate. He'd never be so horrible to –

The phone buzzed again and Imogene hesitantly picked it up.

_**Not a joke. Send a message. SH**_

* * *

><p>That evening, after Imogene had locked up the shop and even while on her date, the text was at the forefront of her mind. Sherlock. . . . There was no possible way that he was alive! She had gone to his funeral, she had stood there as they lowered the coffin into the grave, she had. . . . She had never seen the body. She really hadn't wanted too not after she had heard how he died.<p>

She had met the strange man four years prior to his death but she had known a great lot about him before then. She was sort of star-struck when it came to the consulting detective, enough so that she followed almost every single case of his. He was brilliant Sherlock Holmes.

And boy oh boy did she like to mess with him.

Behind her smiles and calm demeanor, Imogene was quite an accomplished hacker. It was a skill she gathered during her A-levels, changing a few grades here and there to get her into the University of her choice. She didn't hack often but when she did she did it big. She was only able to afford her shop and flat from the because of the small 'donations' other people gave to her via bank accounts. Sometimes she'd take money and give it to charities. She wasn't a bad person, no, just very clever and she liked to show that off from time to time.

So with Sherlock, Imogene started small by leaving messages on the wall of his blog as if she were nothing more than a normal on-locker. Afterwards she slowly progressed to changing and adding things, mixing up his cases. Of course, Sherlock would see them and he'd fix them, changing the IP address but she always managed to figure it out.

About a month in, faster than she thought he would, Sherlock Holmes appeared in her store. She had smiled brightly at him, nodding. "Flip the sign and lock the door, won't you?"

Sherlock Holmes was every bit as imposing as she thought he might be. Even from his place by the door, she could tell he practically towered over her, his bright blue eyes taking in everything around him as he did what she asked, moving closer to the counter. "Imogene Weaver, I presume."

"You would be correct!" Imogene whipped off her apron, holding out her hand. "It is truly a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes. You have no idea how much of a fan I am."

He didn't shake her hand, just glanced at it as he kept his hands behind his back. "You sure have a way of showing your fascination."

Imogene tilted her head. "I thought you enjoyed figuring things out."

"Oh I enjoy it very much." Sherlock turned his back to her, walking around her shop. "For example, you, Imogene Weaver, 22 years old, accomplished hacker it would seem. Newly developed skills? No, you've been a hacker for a while now. University? No, A-Levels."

Imogene couldn't help but smile. "How could you tell?"

Sherlock glanced around. "You bought this shop second-hand, meaning you couldn't have had too much money when you purchased it, certainly not enough to afford University. You learned how to hack the system during your A-Levels to help you earn scholarships to University."

"You're very astute, Mr. Holmes, but of course I knew that. I can't say I'm not impressed."

When he finally turned to face her, Imogene was slightly surprised to see that he wasn't smiling. She had expected him to maybe be a little impressed with her. "You're lonely."

She could feel her excitement at meeting Sherlock faltering along with the smile on her face. "Of course I'm not."

"Of course you are. You're a book lover aren't you? You surround yourself with books, with the characters because you don't have real people in your life."

"I get it," Imogene muttered, clenching her hands at her side.

"Estranged Family? No, even estranged you'd have pictures from before. Ah, I see . . . orphaned."

"You can stop now."

"You lost your parents at a very young age, young enough to the point you don't remember them. You were shipped in between foster homes, too quiet to really be noticeable. And so you read books, all books, to keep yourself entertained and to give yourself some company."

"Are you quite finished, Mr. Holmes?" Imogene was angry now. She didn't show her angry side. Being happy, smiling in the faces of the people who made you angry or hurt you was a lot easier than allowing all of that emotion to seep through. Then you have to deal with the backlash of arguments and hurt feelings. Why not smile? Why not show victory over the people who try to make you cry?

So why was it that she couldn't just smile at Sherlock Holmes? It wasn't fair that this man, who had only known her for little more than five minutes, could make her feel as if she wanted to cry.

"I thought you liked games." Sherlock walked forward, leaning against her counter. "Why did you hack my blog?"

Imogene gave him a bright smile that did not quite reach her eyes. "Because I could."

"That's usually what criminals would say, Ms. Weaver."

"I'd say there's a thin line between fun and crime, Mr. Holmes, wouldn't you?"

Sherlock looked her over for a moment. "I'd say you were just looking for attention."

"Funny. I bet that's what people say about you, the world's only Consulting Detective."

"Hmm." Sherlock leaned back, clasping his hands behind his back once more. "Very well. Good morning, Ms. Weaver."

Imogene watched him turn from her, eyes wide with astonishment. "You aren't going to turn me in? Get me a slap on the wrist? How did you even realize it was me?"

Sherlock turned to face her once more. "You were the least obvious choice. I'll admit it was surprising. Are you going to stop stealing?"

"I make no promises."

Sherlock stared at her for a moment. "I'll be calling on you Ms. Weaver. It could be that I could use your . . . expertise."

And call on her he did, for little things like mass text from his phone to the public, information he couldn't obtain through more legal manners. Every so often he'd stopped by her shop and her flat right above, to make sure she wasn't stealing money. Of course, she still was if not as much as before and she knew he knew that but he never commented. Secretly Imogene believed Sherlock visited her as often as he did because he considered her friend. He never said it aloud, but she could tell in the way he talked to her and reacted to her. It wasn't in the same way he talked and reacted to other people and she noticed he actually valued her opinion and thoughts on certain matters. Imogene thought that maybe, just maybe, he kept tabs on her like he did because he was just as lonely as she was.

So it was with a rapidly beating heart that her taxi cab pulled up to her shop and she saw Sherlock sitting on the steps leading up to her flat. For a moment she just stared at him from the cab until the driver spoke up. "You alright, Miss?"

"Yes." Her voice sounded strangled, unsure.

"Do you know that man?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to be alright on your own?"

God, if she didn't get it together, she'd wind up getting Sherlock arrested. She turned in her seat and smiled at the driver. "Thank you for your concern. I'll be fine, really."

She got out of the cab, smoothing down the bottom of her blue dress. She smiled brightly, clutching a purse in front of her. "Hello there Sherlock. Been alright?"

Sherlock stood in that fluid way of his. "Imogene."

Hearing his voice again, seeing him standing there brought a wave of emotions she wasn't prepared for or wanting. She could punch him, she thought, though by the look of his red nose and busted lip someone had gotten there first, most likely John. He would be the first person Sherlock would go see for sure. She could hug him, wrap her arms around him and hold him so tight he'd never leave. She could practically kiss him if she –

"Care for a cuppa?" Without waiting for his answer, Imogene hurried up the steps, not really caring if he followed but knowing he would. She reached the top of the stairs and unlocked the door. Sherlock was indeed right behind her and she allowed him to enter before closing the door behind her. "I'll be back and then I'll put the kettle on. I dressed way to fancy for this rendezvous."

"How was your date?" Sherlock asked.

Imogene looked over her shoulder, not even bothering to ask how he knew. Instead she kept smiling. "Oh it was dreadfully boring. He was a banker and all he talked about was himself."

"Did you rob him?"

"Only just a little. . . . I'll be back in a mo'." Imogene hurried into her room, trying not to slam the door shut behind her and she kicked off her heels. What should she do? She took a deep breath, pulling her dress over her head and throwing on her sweats and a t-shirt. She hurried into the bathroom and grabbed her washrag, practically scrubbing the little bit of makeup from her face. She was tense and agitated and she knew Sherlock would know but she refused to give him the benefit of letting him see it.

She hurried back into her living room, surprised to see that Sherlock had already put the kettle on and was sitting in the chair he normally sat in when he dropped in. She stopped and stared at him for a moment and he stared back. "You've cut your hair."

He and John were so much more alike than they even realized. "I wanted a change."

"It suits you."

He was being polite, she thought. Sherlock doesn't just hand out compliments. She was sure he tried to just jump back into John's life and it had certainly backfired from the looks of it. He was obviously trying to be a little gentler with her. "I'll get you an ice pack."

She went into the kitchen, pulling out a baggie and ice from the freezer. Dropping the ice into the baggie, she walked over to Sherlock and handed it to him. "Hopefully it helps."

"You're wearing perfume."

"Yes. As you mentioned, I had a date."

"You never wear perfume."

"Well I did tonight. Date, remember?"

"I prefer it when you don't wear perfume."

Imogene took a step backwards, folding her arms across her chest. "What are you doing?"

"I am communicating. I believe they call it small chat." Sherlock finished with one of his big closed mouth smiles.

"The Sherlock I remember doesn't make small chat. It's pointless and Sherlock doesn't ever do anything without a point and a purpose."

Sherlock frowned at her, clasping his hands in front of his mouth. "You're angry."

Of course she was angry. She was downright furious. But she was also stubborn. She smiled brightly. "Of course I'm not. Why would you think that?"

"You used to say that I was the only one who could truly tell what you were feeling."

"Yes well two years is a long time. Perhaps you've lost your touch." The kettle whistled then and Imogene hurried into the kitchen, turning off the fire and grabbing two cups. "Cookies, Sherlock? Biscuits?"

"You and John are not responding the way I expected you to respond."

That did it. Imogene practically slammed the cups down on the counter, taking a deep shuttering breath. "How did you expect us to respond, Sherlock? Did you want John to leap up and hug you? Were you expecting me to jump for joy, scream and shout?"

"Well, quite honestly –"

"Sherlock you died!" Imogene rounded on him. She could feel patches of pink staining her brown cheeks and tears coming to her eyes. "You were the closest thing to a best friend I had and you died! You gave up and you jumped off a building and the last thing I ever said to you wasn't anything even remotely meaningful. And come to find out you're alive! Two years and your just fine! Some part of you, some part of your logical brain has to understand that they way John and I are reacting is perfectly acceptable!"

Sherlock was staring her and if there was one word that she could use to describe the expression on his face, it would have been bewildered and perhaps even a little bit sad. "You have to understand. There were thirteen possible solutions and I –"

"I don't care," Imogene interrupted. "I don't care how you did it or why. It's the fact that two years, Sherlock, two years went by and I didn't get a word from you!"

"Moriarty had people watching you. He had people trained on you, John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson. If I had contacted you he would have had you killed. You have to understand, as a hacker, how any word from me could have fallen into the wrong hands."

"Of course I understand but doesn't mean I have to like it!" Imogene took another deep breath and went back to setting the cups on a tray pouring hot water into them. She was embarrassed now and she was sure her whole face was pink. He had been protecting her. No matter how messed up it all seemed, he had been thinking about her and his friends. She could still be angry, still be upset but she had to at least acknowledge that. She picked up the tray and turned back to Sherlock, giving him a shaky smile. "I can't remember how you take your tea."

He took the tray from her, setting it off to the side. "You don't have to pretend with me, Imogene."

Imogene's lip quivered and she placed her hands over her face, finally letting the tears fall. She felt Sherlock place his hand on top of her head and before he could protest she threw her arms around his waist. She knew that this was new for them. She had never hugged him in all of their friendship because she thought it would make him uncomfortable. So needless to say she was surprised when he hesitantly put his arms around her shoulders, patting her back.

After a moment, she let go, turning her back on him to wipe her eyes. "Sorry about that."

"No need." Sherlock looked at loss for words as he simply took a step back, clasping his hands behind his back again.

When Imogene turned back around, she was smiling again, and though it wasn't her normal cheery smile but still it was something. "I'm sure you have other people to surprise tonight."

"Right you are. A certain detective and a Specialist Registrar at the morgue."

"Both of whom I expect knew about this little plot of yours." Imogene had always liked Lestrade and Molly Hooper was sweet if not shy.

"Just one."

Imogene tilted her head. "She's a sweet girl, that Molly. Do try and be kind to her."

"Aren't I always?" Imogene walked behind Sherlock as he made his way to the door. He stopped with his hand on the handle turning back to her. "You'll send that message?"

"Want people to know your back? I'll send it first thing in the morning."

Sherlock paused for a moment, his brow creasing. "Thank you, Imogene."

"No need," Imogene grinned widely. "I'm your Hacker after all."

"You far more than that," Sherlock muttered. Again he paused as he slowly opened the door. "The last thing you said to me, before I jumped."

"I can't remember what it was. You were so hurried and I couldn't track Moriarty. It was a rough day."

"You said, 'Go get em' Sherlock."

"See I told you. Meaningless."

"No. It wasn't meaningless." Sherlock reached forward and placed his hand on her shoulder. "It meant you had confidence in me. I needed that then."

Sherlock leaned forward and pressed a kissed against her forehead. Imogene stood absolutely still, not exactly sure how to respond and not wanting to move just in case she ruined the moment. She cared about Sherlock so much that it hurt sometimes. But Molly was the girl for him, she was sure of his feelings for the doctor, and Imogene cared so much that she'd take what part of him she could get, even if it were just as a friend.

He moved away and Imogene didn't move again until the door had closed behind him. When he was gone, she smiled brightly. "Welcome back Sherlock."

#SherlockisAlive was trending to cell phones all over England first thing next morning

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><p><strong>AN: Let me know what you thought. Sorry had to change America to England :)**


	2. Next

**A/N: Hey I am pleased by the response to this story **** S/O to new readers missmystery, ArianaRocker, TheTidesAreGettingHigher, llama-hunter-on-fire and Madsbrain. You guys rock. Hope this chapter is to your liking! **

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><p>The shop door rang and Imogene smiled, flipping to the next page of her newest book. "I saw you on the telly. I adore the hat."<p>

"You and the rest of the general public it would seem." Imogene bookmarked her page, took off her reading glasses, and looked up at Sherlock as he browsed through the Mystery bin. "These books must be so dull."

"Not to the rest of the general public. That's a useful skill you have," Imogene acknowledge. "Consulting Detective by day, bomb diffuser by night."

"You don't know how to diffuse a bomb?" Sherlock asked, approaching the counter, a slight smirk on his face.

"Unfortunately no but now I know who to call if I ever have that problem." Imogene got up from her stool. "So to what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

"Hmm." Sherlock reached forward, picking up her book and looking over the cover. "John was wondering why you weren't at Baker Street for the newscast."

"Oh? I hadn't known I was invited."

Sherlock glanced up at her. "Of course you were invited. Everyone was invited."

"Was this a written invitation or just word of mouth?"

"Neither, they just came over."

"Well next time I know," Imogene responded, rolling her eyes. "Who is everyone?"

"The usual I suppose. Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, John's Fiancée Mary, Molly –"

Imogene gave Sherlock a sly grin. "Molly you say?"

"—and her fiancé Tom."

"Fiancé?" Imogene leaned back. She hadn't been expecting that . . . not that she wasn't incredibly pleased, both for Molly and . . . well – "What was he like?"

"He's – well, someone you would have to meet. Either way, I didn't come here just for that." Sherlock put her book down, reached into his pocket and pulled out a mobile. "I need you to track a number for me."

"I'll do my best." Imogene reached under her counter and pulled out her laptop and her plugs. "What did they send you?"

"Just a message," Sherlock said vaguely.

Imogene paused before taking the phone, looking up at Sherlock disbelievingly. "A message about what?"

"Just a message! Are you my Hacker or not?"

He was hiding something. Imogene ignored him, turning the phone over in her hands. "This isn't your phone. . . . Nor is it John's."

Sherlock glared at her. "No it isn't."

Imogene glared right back. "Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"This thing you and John do, where you treat me like a little sister or something equally as vulnerable. You hide things from me as if I can't take it or as if it will scare me and then I have to find out from the telly of all places. Were you going to tell me about the bomb?"

"I didn't find it relevant to the current situation," Sherlock explained, obviously confused by her reaction. "Besides, both John and I are clearly fine and –"

Imogene pushed the phone towards his face. "What happened?"

With an aggravated sigh, Sherlock pushed her hand away from him. "Someone kidnapped John."

Imogene stared at him for a moment before reaching across the counter and swatting his shoulder as hard as she could. Sherlock jerked back, annoyed. "Imogene Weaver!"

"Don't you 'Imogene Weaver' me! This is exactly what I'm talking about." She sat back on her stool, reaching under the counter to grab her computer and cords, shooting a glare up at her friend as she put her reading glasses back on. "I'll track, you talk."

The Consulting Detective walked around the counter to lean against the wall behind her, arms folded across his chest. He always did that when she worked, as if trying to memorize what she did and how she did it. "Someone sent a message to Mary's phone, that phone, a skip code."

"You don't get many skip codes now a day." She hooked the phone up the laptop, her eyes glued to the screen now, tapping away at the keys. "What were they trying to tell you?"

"How to find John . . . after they had drugged him and trapped him inside a fireworks pyre."

The hacker stopped, turning on her stool to look at Sherlock. "_They trapped him inside a fireworks pyre_?"

Sherlock watched her warily. "Are you going to hit me again?"

"Did you not think this was _relevant_ for me to know?"

"John didn't want to you to worry."

"Didn't want me to –" Imogene scoffed, running a hand through her short curls. "I'm supposed to worry! That's my job as your friend! Of course I would worry but that doesn't mean you shouldn't tell me what's going on! I mean, really, Sherlock, how dare you –"

"Damn it, Gene, we didn't want you to worry that you might be next!" Sherlock snapped.

Startled by his outbreak, Imogene turned back to her computer, staring at the screen. "That's ridiculous. Why on earth would I be 'next'?"

"This person is obviously targeting the people I am closest too." Sherlock leaned back against the wall. "It's only a logical thought."

Instead of answering, Imogene typed in some numbers, running diagnostics on the phone. "Should I be?"

"Should you be what?"

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Worried?"

Sherlock scoffed at her. "Of course not. As if I'd allow anything to happen to you."

Imogene focused on her computer to keep herself from blushing. She knew that Sherlock considered her a close friend but it was always strange to hear him say something like that, so unlike Sherlock. But then, of course, he ruined all her happy thoughts by adding, "Who else would I get all my information from?"

The Hacker rolled her eyes, typing a few last things and frowning at her computer. "That's strange."

Sherlock moved next to her, bending over so that his face was next to her, trying to decipher the codes on the screen. "What is, what is it?"

"The number the message came from, it's untraceable."

"But you can trace everything."

Imogene frowned up at him. "Not this. They've, whoever they are, have it blocked, firewalled, so hypothetically chained up, security code, locked that if this were a real safe, not even The Woman could find her way through it. It's secure, Sherlock. I'm sorry."

Sherlock tsked, taking the phone from her. "It's alright. I wasn't really hoping for much."

"Well thanks for your confidence in my skill."

"Whoever it is wouldn't have made it easy for them to find me. The fact that you can't track them means they've got the best to keep you out."

"There was a compliment in there. You're slipping." Imogene grinned at her friend as she closed down her laptop and stuck it back under her desk. "Anything else you need before you go running off into the streets of London?"

"I believe that's all." Sherlock started towards the door, turning up his coat collar like he was want to do, causing Imogene to give him a slight smile. He turned back to look at her. "Are you keeping out of bank accounts?"

He asked every time now, Imogene realized, every time he stopped by ever since he came back to London. She hadn't thought he had minded it so much before but now it was almost as if it disappointed him. But though owning a neighborhood book store didn't put much money in her pocket beside enough for rent and Sherlock certainly didn't pay her, she hadn't given into temptation because he had asked her not to. She raised her hand to her forehead in a salute. "Sir, yes sir."

Sherlock shot her a reproachful look for the sarcasm but still nodded his head. "Good. Do keep your eye out, Imogene, for anything suspicious."

"What qualifies as suspicious?"

"Everything." Sherlock paused, just staring at her for a moment. It was hard not to feel exposed under that extreme gaze of his, never mind the fact that he could deduct everything about you within a second or two. Imogene always wondered if he knew how she felt about him, suspected that he did, but she figured he never said anything because of their friendship. "Good afternoon, Gene."

"Afternoon Sherlock."

* * *

><p>A week or so later on a normal Thursday afternoon, Imogene sat in her shop, reading as she always did on slow days. She had only had maybe four customers that entire morning, enough time to read through the next three chapters in her book.<p>

When the shop door opened she glanced up with a smile and a brief 'hello' before returning to her book. She put her book away and took off her reading glasses, watching the customer as he absentmindedly went through the books. It was strange she thought. Most customers, especially those new to her shop asked what kind of books she sold and her prices before they even started browsing. This guy hadn't stopped at all when he walked in. Her phone buzzed and she checked it under the counter. It was from Sherlock.

_**Get out of your shop. Get to your apartment. Lock your door.**_

No 'SH'. He always signed 'SH'.

Imogene looked up out of the corner of her eye, noticing the weird customer was slightly closer to her than he had been . . . he was also strategically between her and the front door, her only exit. She looked back down when the customer moved to look in her direction. Under her counter she shot a quick text back to Sherlock.

_Trapped._

A moment later her shop phone rang. She was proud of herself for not jumping as she reached slowly for the phone, answering halfway through the second ring. "Booklovers Anonymous, this is Imogene. How may I help your book needs today?"

"Are you alright?"

She was shaking, she realized and she turned to the side so that she could still see the man in her shop and hide her trembling hand from his view. Imogene put a wide smile on her face. "Yes, we do sell that copy here."

"Good girl," Sherlock responded, acknowledging her attempt to stay calm and respond in a manner that wasn't suspicious. Imogene thought she could hear cars behind him, the honk of a horn, and he might have been running. "Can you get out?"

Imogene frowned, shaking her head. "I'm afraid I don't have that book here."

"You'll have to make a way out Imogene," Sherlock told her fiercely. "John and I will be there soon but we're not close enough to help you."

"What would you like me to save for you?"

"Get out of there and up to your apartment. Lock the door. I'll be there quickly."

"Will do, sir. Thank you for calling."

The phone disconnected and Imogene placed her end back on the receiver. She could make up an excuse to leave but that would be suspicious she supposed. No the only thing to do would be to book it out of there as best as she could, try not to get caught. Sherlock had gotten warnings after John's kidnapping to try and find him. The fact that Sherlock had already known she was in danger could possibly mean that this wasn't a kidnapping. She wasn't being given a chance like John had been given.

Imogene got out off the stool, moving out from behind the counter. She saw the man turn slightly in her direction but she kept moving, eyes focused on the door.

His shoes scuffed against the floor and Imogene darted towards the door, skirting around the bins of books. Just as reached the handle, hands grabbed the back of her shirt, yanking her back. She screamed and struggled, knocking the pair of them into a shelf of books. The books fell to the floor and so did she and her captor, he on top, straddling her.

"Let go of me!" Imogene yelled, pushing against him as he tried to pin her down. In her struggle, she tried to memorize his face; brown eyes, stubble around his chin, strong jaw line but otherwise there were no distinguishable features.

He somehow got a grip of both of her wrist in one hand, pinning her arms to the floor. She twisted and turned as he pulled a needle from his pocket. Imogene stared at it in horror for a moment, the clear liquid within it before she begin to struggle anew, flailing and trying to get away from him. The man forced her arms towards her body, raising one knee and pressing it down on both of her wrist, hard. She gritted her teeth against the pain, determined not to scream even as tears sprang to her eyes. His free hand came up and forced her head to the side, exposing her neck. The needle entered her neck and stung as he pressed the plunger in.

Stars burst in front of her eyes as her pulse began to slow. "No," she murmured as the man's hand fell from her face. He let go of her completely, standing up, and Imogene turned over on her stomach, trying to crawl away. Sherlock had said get out. She had never not followed through with a request from him. She had to – she had to-

She stretched her hand out towards the door as her vision became blurry. Her hand fell to the ground again with a dull thud and the last thing she saw was the man who attacked, reaching down to pick her up.

* * *

><p>When Imogene awoke again, she felt as if she were floating. Everything was fuzzy and heavy and she blinked hard to clear the darkness out of her eyes.<p>

But it wouldn't go away. Why was it so dark? Imogene reached up, finding a roof just above her head, her elbows still bent as she touched the plush surface. Plush . . . Velvet . . . She turned to the side, her fingers running along the velvet as her heart began to beat faster.

Oh God… Oh God no….

A coffin! She was in a bloody coffin!

She kicked the lid and it didn't budge. Had they already buried her? She tried to cry out but her voice wouldn't come. She kicked again.

"Help," she tried again, her voice only coming out in a gasp.

_Okay, okay, calm down, Imogene_, she thought to herself. Coffins weren't meant for people who were alive, who needed air. Who knew how long she had been in there, unconscious. Her air was probably running short. She needed to calm down, slow her heart rate and her breathing if she planned to survive this. Sherlock would find her, he would, he had to. . . .

But what if he didn't. . . .

No! No, she'd only work herself up like this if she thought about the what if's.

She didn't think she'd be able to last much longer. Tears streamed down her face and she let out a quaky breath. She didn't want to die like this. Not already buried in her coffin. She never really got to properly meet Mary, the woman John practically glowed about. She'd never get to try Mrs. Hudson's tea again (that woman sure knew how to make a good cuppa). She'd never get to make up for the lost time with John. She'd never get to see Sherlock again.

She let out a fresh sob. No. No giving up now.

"Help!" She yelled banging her hands against the lid again. She screamed and cried and kicked the walks, punching them. "Somebody help me! Somebody please! Help . . ."

She was getting lightheaded. The air was becoming thinner. She hit the lid again. "Help me . . . please."

No one was coming, she realized as she pressed her hands to her face. She was going to die, already buried. Her hands fell back down to her sides as her breathing continued to slow. She closed her eyes.

"Gene!"

Hallucinations usually came next, when you were dying. She thought she had heard –

"Imogene!"

Sherlock . . .

He was here, he came. . .

Raising a hand, she hit against the lid of the coffin again. _Here, I'm in here._

Something heavy landed on the lid. "Imogene! Imogene can you hear me?"

Once again, she raised a hand and banged it against the lid as hard as she could. Hands pulled against the lid. She thought she heard Sherlock mutter a curse before he said, "It's padlocked."

"John!" a woman's voice cried out. "John, your gun!"

"Imogene, roll over!" John cried out. "Roll to the left! Cover your head!"

Imogene did as she was told as quickly as possible. The shot hit the padlock sending a ringing through the coffin and through her ears. Someone jumped back down onto the coffin, and Imogene heard the creak of the lid as it was opened, felt the rush of air to her lungs.

"Imogene. . . ."

She uncovered her head, rolling back over onto her back. She blinked, the light blinding as a shadowy figure appeared in her view. Sherlock reached for her, helping her to sit up.

They, whoever they were, had placed her in a shallow grave. Sitting up she could see that they had buried her in Sherlock's fake grave. John and the woman next to him, who could only be Mary, were standing in the same exact spot Imogene and John had stood during Sherlock's funeral. How horrible were these people?

Reaching up, Imogene wrapped her arms around Sherlock's neck, placing her face against his shoulder. She was going to pass out any second and she'd rather Sherlock be able to catch her than fall back down into the coffin.


	3. The Best Man Speech

**Disclaimer: This wonderful world, its characters, and any recognizable scenes and script do not belong to me. I own only Imogene, her thoughts and opinions.**

**A/N: It's been a while! Sorry for such a long delay **** Hope this nice long chapter makes up for it! I tried not to make it so scripted but a lot of it you'll recognize from the show. S/o to new readers: Joldino-Sidestreaker, pattersonfan, AnimagiPotter, ChibiChesire, Soph274, NinaAnoit, Doctor394 and lynx44. And emiko thanks for the review! I shouldn't have to warn about spoilers as obviously this series is about the 3****rd**** season and contains great detail. **

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><p>Violin music woke her up that morning and she sat up in bed, looking around confused. Had she left the radio on? Looking around at the clock that wasn't hers and the unfamiliar sheets, realization hit and Imogene flung her legs over the side of the bed, standing to stretch.<p>

Lately, Imogene had been spending a great deal of time over at 221B Baker Street. After her kidnapping and a brief stay at the hospital, she had tried to go back to her apartment, with her new friend Mary in tow, and had promptly became faint as soon as her foot hit the first step. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Mary and John said. Months later she was still dealing with nightmares and lightheadedness. She had kept her store closed these past months as well, unable to even properly set foot in there to clean up the mess. Evenings were hard. Every creek her flat made sent a spasm of fear through her which lead to many sleepless nights. Often times she found herself wandering the streets in her trainers and a jumper over her pajamas.

One evening she found herself at 221B. Sherlock had opened the door, still wide awake as she expected him to be. He hadn't spoken, just eyed her carefully before he moved aside and allowed her to come in. She slept in John's old room that evening and a few evenings after. Sherlock had even started to put a spare key under the mat for her to come in without disturbing Mrs. Hudson. So far it had been an agreeable arrangement, seeing as how it was only maybe three to four times a week. Sherlock hadn't complained anyway. Imogene thought he might like the company even if he didn't say so.

Imogene shuffled her way to the bathroom, glimpsing Sherlock jotting away at his composition. She brushed her teeth before she went back out into the living room. Sherlock put his pencil down and pressed play on the radio. The music flowed through the room as he put his arms up, waltzing with his invisible partner. It truly was a beautiful composition and Imogene thought this was a perfect song for any couples first dance, though Mary and John would probably appreciate it so much more.

"Are you just going to stand there and stare or are you going to help me?" Sherlock spoke up suddenly, his eyes closed as he turned in his waltz.

Imogene stood up straight. "Good morning to you too."

"Come here." Rolling her eyes, Imogene walked forward. Sherlock didn't even open his eyes as he took her right hand in his left and placed his right hand on her waist. "Hand on my shoulder please."

Imogene wondered if he could tell she was blushing even with his eyes closed. She hoped not because her face was possibly hotter than it had ever been. "I'm not a very good dancer."

"Just follow my lead and you'll do fine."

Imogene chose to watch her bare feet as they moved around the living room. Sherlock was indeed a skilled dancer. In fact, she might have been able to consider this romantic if it weren't for the fact that Sherlock was so focused.

Moments later the door opened and Mrs. Hudson came in with the morning tea. Imogene shot the older woman a quick smile as she stood in the door watching them.

"Shut up Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock muttered.

Mrs. Hudson looked indignant. "I haven't said a word!"

Sherlock stopped dancing, sighing. "You're formulating questions. It's physically painful watching you think."

Mrs. Hudson walked fully into the room. "I thought it was you playing."

"It was me playing." Sherlock let go of Imogene, moving past her to jot down at the music sheet. "I am composing."

"You two were dancing," Mrs. Hudson muttered slyly, shooting a glance at Imogene who was doing her best to make sure she wasn't facing Sherlock.

"I was road testing."

Mrs. Hudson laughed slightly. "What?"

"On that note, I'm going to go get dressed," Imogene said, hurrying to the front door. She shoved her feet into her trainers, pulling her jacket around her. "I'll be ready within the hour, Sherlock. Mary'll be expecting us soon."

Sherlock nodded, still staring at Mrs. Hudson. "Why are you here?"

Imogene closed the door behind her, shaking her head as she hurried down the step, buttoning up her coat over her pajamas. She supposed she should feel a little bit more self conscious or embarrassed about leaving a man's house in the early morning in her night clothes but, knowing whose home she had stayed at it was hard to channel that specific emotion.

A quick taxi ride home she was walking slowly up the stairs, taking deep soothing breaths like Mary had taught her. Mornings were definitely easier but she still couldn't help the jittery feeling every time she was alone. So she willed the hour away with the two tellys in her apartment on as she flat ironed her curls, straightening her hair until there was only a slight curl at the end. She didn't normally like to wear her hair straight but this was a special occasion. She put on the pink lacy tea dress Mary had helped her pick out along with the strappy short heels. She was standing in her bathroom finishing up her makeup when there was a knock on the door.

"Just a mo'!" Imogene called out, capping her mascara and then hurrying to the door. Sherlock stood there, looking smashing in the three piece suit. "You clean up nicely."

"Of course, I do, I –" Just when she was sure he was going to make some arrogant claim about how he always cleaned up nicely, Sherlock stopped, staring at her.

Imogene shifted uncomfortably. "What?"

"What in the world have you done to your hair?"

Imogene gave the consulting detective a tense smile. "I suggest you consider a better way to phrase that."

Sherlock frowned at her, thinking and began again, though Imogene thought it might have been difficult. "You've done something different with your hair."

"I straightened it is all." The Hacker turned walking back into her apartment. Sherlock followed her in as she moved to pick up her purse. "Is something the matter with it?"

Sherlock stared at her some more, his hands clasped behind his back. "Not particularly, I suppose. I just prefer your curls."

"That was almost a compliment. Come on. Mary'll throw a fit if we're late."

* * *

><p>The wedding was lovely, every detail perfect but then again could you really expect less when Sherlock Holmes was helping plan? Imogene had stood at the back most of the wedding dabbing at tears with a hanky, a clipboard in her hand as she made sure everything she, Mary, and Sherlock had planned went off without a hitch.<p>

"Immy!" Imogene spun around as Mary took her arm, pulling her in for a hug. "Everything's perfect."

"Well with Sherlock's immaculate touch –"

"Not just Sherlock," Mary told her smiling. "Thank you for keeping an eye on things."

"Sorry I couldn't keep him away from David," Imogene told her, grinning. "But at least you know he's good with kids."

"He has been all the Archy can talk about. His mother will be none too pleased when she realizes why." The two woman giggled, Imogene smiling widely. She couldn't say she had ever had an actual girlfriend. In school she had been too mousy, more interested in books than in clothes and makeup. But Mary was brilliant, really, so very clever and kind. The Hacker couldn't be happier that of all the woman John could have met, he found this one. Mary smiled back. "You look lovely by the way. Pink suits you."

"I should be complimenting you," Imogene said. "You are the woman of the day after all."

"That I am!" Mary let go of her arm. "I'm going to go find Sherlock, see how he's getting on with everyone. Maybe he's making new friends."

Imogene laughed again as Mary moved off. She clutched the clipboard to her chest as she went to check the appetizers.

After everything have been served, dessert eaten, wine poured, Imogene found a seat with Lestrade, Molly and her Fiancé Tom, and Mrs. Hudson. The older woman leaned over, clasping her hand as they announced the best man speech. "Here we go, then."

Imogene took a deep breath. When John had told her Mrs. Hudson was in a laughing fit over 'telegrams' of all things, she hadn't quite understood what she meant. Now, watching as Sherlock stood, clasping the cards in his hands, she crossed her fingers.

"Ladies and gentleman," Sherlock started, "family and friends and uh others uh also. . . ."

He looked down at the cards and looked back up at the audience. He caught her eye and she gave him a slight smile.

"Right well," he began again, clearing his throat, "first things first – the telegrams. Well there're not actually telegrams. We just call them telegrams, I don't know, wedding tradition because we don't have enough of those apparently."

"Great start so far," Imogene muttered, causing Mrs. Hudson to pat her hand.

Sherlock proceeded to read through the telegrams with a bit of disgust on his face. The well wishes, the names . . . Imogene thought it might be a bit much for his logical mind to grasp such sentiments and things of that such but he was trying his very best to get through it for John's sake. Lestrade, Molly and Imogene bit their tongues, trying to contain their laughter as Sherlock flipped through the rest of the telegrams, throwing them on the table flippantly before ending with, "I think you get the general gist. People are basically fond."

There was a spattering of chuckles among the guests while Sherlock looked around, glancing down at John.

"John Watson. My friend john Watson . . . John." Sherlock paused a moment. "When John first broached the subject of being Best Man I was confused. I confess at first I didn't realize what he was asking. When finally I understood, I expressed to him that I was both flattered and surprised. I explained to him that I had never expected this request and I was a little daunted in the face of it. I nonetheless promised that I would do my very best to accomplish a task which was for me more as demanding difficult as I have ever contemplated. In addition I thanked him for the trust he placed in me and indicated that I was close to being moved by it."

Imogene placed a hand over her mouth hiding her smile. She recalled John asking Sherlock to be his Best Man, had sat there on the couch waiting to hear Sherlock's answer which certainly hadn't been that articulate.

"It later transpired," Sherlock continued, "that I said none of this out loud."

This time the audience genuinely laughed which obviously confused Sherlock. He paused again, fishing his note cards out of his inside coat pocket. Imogene remembered watching him write those, thinking it amazing that he was bothering to write notes considering this was a man who could remember the tiniest of details. "I'm afraid, John, I can't congratulate you. All emotions, in particular love, stand opposed to the pure cold reason I hold above all things. A wedding is, in my considered opinion, nothing short of a celebration of all that is false and speechless and irrational and sentimental in this ailing and morally compromised world. Today we honor the deathwatch people that is the doom of our society and in time one would feel certain our entire species. . . . But anyway, let's talk about John," he added as if it were an afterthought. Imogene thought she should have read through Sherlock's notes before letting him go up there. "If I burden myself with a little helpmate during my adventures this is not out of sentiment or caprice. It is that he has many fine qualities of his own that he has overlooked in his obsession with me."

Imogene sat, horrified, as Sherlock continued to insult not only Mary and John but also Mary's bridesmaids and their brought together family. The guests were obviously uncomfortable and John and Mary couldn't have looked more embarrassed. There was no possible way that Sherlock didn't notice this.

"The point I am trying to make is," Sherlock concluded, speaking over all the disgruntled guests, "that I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all around obnoxious arse that anyone could have the infortune to meet. I am dismissive of the virtuous, unaware of the beautiful and uncomprehending in the face of the happy. . . . So if I didn't understand I was being asked to be the Best Man, it is because I never expected to be anybody's best friend - Certainly not the best friend of the bravest and kindest and wisest human being I have ever had the good fortune of knowing. John, I am a ridiculous man redeemed only by the warmth and continence of your friendship. But as I am apparently your best friend I cannot congratulate you on your choice of companion. . . . Actually now I can. Mary when I say you deserve this man it is the highest compliment of which I am capable. John you have endured war and injury and tragic loss – so sorry again about that last one – so noticed today you sit between the woman you have made your wife and the man you have saved in short the two people who love you most in the world. . . . And I know I speak for Mary, when I say we will never let you down and we have a lifetime ahead to prove that."

There was a stunned silence that followed the end of his speech. It was perhaps the best Best Man speech, Imogene had ever heard . . . not that she had been invited to many weddings, but there was nothing short of spectacular about this speech. Imogene looked around as Mrs. Hudson sobbed into a hanky and other guests wiped their eyes.

"Now onto some funny stories about John," Sherlock started, oblivious to the tears until Imogene chocked out a sob filled chuckle. Sherlock looked up, looking around the room. "What's wrong, what happened? Why are you all doing that? John. Did I do it wrong?"

"No," John muttered, standing up and pulling the detective into his arms. "You didn't."

The guests clapped their hands as John let go of Sherlock. Imogene could tell that Sherlock was trying to finish his notecards, meticulous as he was. John sat down, seeming to give in and Sherlock cleared his throat. "Now onto some funny stories about John. . . ."

Of course, most of the tales Sherlock had about John involved the cases they had worked on. The Bloody Guardsman had been an interesting one, considering it was one of the few that Sherlock had left unsolved. She remembered it only because Mary had been worried that Sherlock had been getting too involved in the wedding and John wasn't involved enough. That woman sure knew how to work both John and Sherlock. Before Imogene could even blink, both Sherlock and John were coming up with some excuse (one had claimed socks, the other ties), before dashing out of the house, leaving the two women to pleasantly plan details of the wedding without Sherlock's little scrupulous details or the bored look on John's face.

She also remembered the annoying look at Mary's face when she mentioned Sherlock.

"You fancy him don't you," Mary had said from her place at the desk.

Imogene looked up from her computer. "Who?"

"Well obviously not John, or at least I'd hope not." Mary smiled knowingly. "It took me a while to see it, but now that you're here so often, I don't know why it wasn't obvious before. You should tell him."

There was no use hiding it, obviously. "We're just friends."

"You don't have to be."

"When Sherlock has given you a title, you're that title. His Blogger, His Hacker. He doesn't see me as anything other than his friend, someone who helps him out with technical things."

"You never know unless you say something."

"That'll be the day."

She'd have to get used to it, having a girlfriend, talking about girly things, having someone pry into those little details. Not that she minded, really, it was nice to have someone else know about her inner dilemma.

"Private Bainbridge had just come off duty," Sherlock continued with his story, the guest rapt in attention. "He stood there for hours, plenty of people watching, nothing apparently wrong. He came off duty and within minutes was nearly dead from a wound in his stomach but there was no weapon. Where did it go? Ladies and gentleman, I invite you to consider this. A murderer who can walk through walls, a weapon that can vanish . . . but in all of this there is one element that could be considered truly remarkable. Would anyone like to make a guess? Come on, come on," Sherlock said, perturbed by the lack of response. "There is actually an element of q and a to this. Scotland Yard! You've got a theory? Yeah, you," he said gesturing at Lestrade. "You're a detective broadly speaking. Got a theory?"

"Uh," Greg started, obviously flustered. "If the blade was propelled through the um, grating in the air vent, maybe a catapult. Somebody tiny could crawl in there, so yeah, we're looking for a dwarf."

"Brilliant," Sherlock stated.

"Really?"

"No."

Poor Tom's theory wasn't correct either and Molly looked positively aghast that he had even tried to answer the question. Yes, this was truly turning into one of the most unusual Best Man speeches ever, but Imogene couldn't help but admire the way Sherlock managed to connect it all back to what a wonderful person John was.

"Embarrassment leads me on to the stag night," Sherlock began again. "Course I've cut it down to the good bits."

Oh yes, Imogene recalled the night she had gone down the stairs only to find Sherlock and John blocking her way to Mrs. Hudson's flat, practically giggling as she realized they had not been out but 2 hours. They had stumbled up the stairs behind her to the flat where they played a hodpodge version of headbands. She had watched them, fighting back laughter as Sherlock tried to guess who he was.

That was also the same night of the MayFly Man case. Imogene had felt so bad for the woman who had come in, that nurse, Tessa, dealing with a knackered Sherlock and John and her case had turned out to be the most interesting once Sherlock had sobered up (after a brilliant hung-over night in jail). Imogene had brought over every computer in her possession for Sherlock, helping him set them up and get connected to the women this supposed ghost had dated.

"I will solve your murder," Sherlock told the guests, "but it takes John Watson to save your life. Trust me, he has saved my life so many times in so many different ways. This blog is the story of two men and their frankly ridiculous adventures of murder, mystery and mayhem but from now there's a new story, a bigger adventure. Ladies and gentlemen, pray charge your glasses and be upstanding. Today begin the adventures of Mary Elizabeth Watson and John Hamish Watson. The two reasons why every single one of us is –"

Sherlock froze and Imogene watched as the glass fell from his hand. She stood from her seat quicker than the other guess, the table shaking in her haste to stand up. Something was happening.

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><p><strong>AN: Okay so splitting the chapter in two was sooooo much easier as this was an extremely long chapter lol. On to the next! **


	4. Murder

**Disclaimer: I do not own the wonderful world of Sherlock Holmes. I only own Imogene and her thoughts and ideas. **

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><p>" –Here today," Sherlock finished as the glass shattered on the ground. "Oh. Terribly sorry."<p>

"Another glass sir," a waiter said, giving him the glass.

Imogene kept her eyes on Sherlock as he took the glass. "Thank you yes, thank you. Now where were we? Ah, yes raising glasses and standing up. . . . and down again."

Confused, everyone took their seats again, mumbling.

"Ladies and gentleman," Sherlock spoke, "people tending not to milk a good speech, get off early, leave them laughing . . . wise advice – I'll certainly try to bear in mind but for now –"

Sherlock leapt over the table, starting down the aisle. "Part two is more action based. I'm going to walk around, shake things up a bit. Who would bother to go to a wedding, actually who would go to any lengths to get themselves to a wedding? Well everyone. Weddings are great, I love a wedding and John's great too I've barely scratched the surface."

Imogene watched as Sherlock walked up and down the aisle, sometimes talking aloud, sometimes quietly, his eyes darting between each guest.

"Murder," he said, and Imogene thought that might have been one of the words he meant to keep in. "Sorry did I say murder? I meant to say marriage, but you know, uh quite similar, the participants tend to know one another."

He pulled out his cell phone, shooting out a quick text, as he spoke to D.I. Lestrade. Imogene looked back and forth between John and Sherlock, trying to figure out what the bloody hell was happening. "Weaver with me," Lestrade said as he got up from the table.

"Oh, right." Imogene quickly followed Greg out of the banquet hall, into the foyer. The detective turned to her, grasping her wrist. "I need you to show me where all the exits are."

Nodding, Imogene raced around the building, pointing out any windows or doors that could be used for an escape. She and Greg bolted doors, locked any windows. Greg told her to go back to the hall, keep a watch from any one suspicious. By the time she got back to the reception, John was sitting at attention and the guest looked nervous. She caught John's eye and he nodded slightly. Imogene stayed by the door, looking around warily.

"Let's play a game, let's play murder," Sherlock was saying, ignoring Mrs. Hudson's muttered oath of 'Sherlock'. "Imagine someone's going to get murdered at a wedding. Who would you pick?"

"I think you a popular choice right now dear," Mrs. Hudson said, annoyed.

"If someone could please move Mrs. Hudson's glass out of her reach that would be lovely. More importantly who could you only kill at a wedding most people you can kill any old place. As a mental exercise I have often planned the murder of friends."

Imogene looked around the room. Why here? Why would the murderer be here? Who were they after?

"Perhaps someone under threat," Sherlock muttered slowly. Imogene watched as he walked over to John's old friend, Major Sholto, turning his back to him as he dropped a piece of paper on the table. "A recluse."

The older gentleman read the note before he stood up, walking out of the room. He passed by Imogene and she noted the look of acquiescence on his face as he walked towards the stairs.

"Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes," Archy cried out, standing up from his seat.

"Oh hello Archy," Sherlock said spinning around to him. "Got a theory? Get this one right and there will be a picture of a headless nun in it for you."

"The invisible man could do it!"

"The who, the what, the why, the when, the where?"

"The invisible man! The one who tried to kill the guardsmen!"

Sherlock stood up straight, his mouth in the shape of an 'o' as he turned and ran up to the head table, conferring with John before he walked back down the aisle. "Ladies and gentleman there will be a short interlude. The bride and groom!"

Everyone stood and repeated the phrase before Sherlock turned and ran out of the room. "Stay here!" He told her as he passed.

"But –" she started as he disappeared up the stairs.

John ran passed her just after, calling out, "Don't move."

"Now really!" Imogene started frustrated knowing it would do know good. She was honestly tired of being made to wait or sit it out while they went on to solve cases. Mary ran up to her and she expected to hear the same thing, 'stay here', 'don't move', 'wait here'.

Instead, Mary grabbed her hand and pulled her forward, "Let's go!"

They ran up the stairs, surprised to find the two men still standing at the top, Sherlock with his fingers pressed against his temples, obviously trying to remember the room Major Sholto stayed in.

"207!" Mary called as she and Imogene ran up the stairs. Sherlock darted off and John took Mary's hand and they all ran towards the 200 wing of the hotel.

"Major Sholto!" Sherlock yelled as they entered the hallway. He banged on the door of room 207. "Major Sholto!"

"If someone's about to make an attempt on my life," came a weary voice from behind the door, "it won't be the first time. I'm ready."

"Major let us in," John replied, frustrated and worried.

"Kick the door in," Imogene muttered.

"I really wouldn't," Major Sholto called out. "I have a gun in my hand and a lifetime of unfortunate reflexes."

"You're not safe in there," Sherlock tried to explain, sounding frantically. "Whose ever after you, we know that a locked room doesn't stop them."

"You mean the invisible man, with the invisible knife."

Sherlock shook his head. "I don't know how he does it which means I can't stop him and he'll do it again."

"Solve it then! You're the famous Mr. Holmes . . . solve the case. On you go! Tell me how he did it and I'll open the door.

"Please this is no time for games!" John argued. "Just let us in! You're in danger!"

"So are you as long as you're here. Please, leave me John. I really don't approve of collateral damage."

Mary spoke up then, stepping forward slightly. "Solve it."

Sherlock turned on her, frowning. "Sorry?"

"Solve it and open the door."

"I couldn't solve it before! How can I solve it now?"

"Cause it matters now!"

"What are you talking about? What's she talking about? John get your wife under control!"

"She's right," John replied shaking his head.

"Oh you've changed!" Sherlock scoffed.

"No she is. Shut up," John interrupted Sherlock before he could speak. "You're not a puzzle solver, you never have been, you're a drama queen! Now there's a man in there about to die! The game is on! Solve it!"

Sherlock pressed his fingers to his temple, Imogene, John and Mary watching as his eyes moved behind his closed lids. Imogene pressed her clasped hands to her mouth, whispering a quiet, "Come on, Sherlock."

His eyes shot open suddenly. He moved forward, taking Mary's face between his hands as he kissed her forward. "Just so you know, he's a drama queen too."

Mary nodded. "Yea I know."

Sherlock turned to the door, pressing his hands against it. "Major Sholto, no one's coming to kill you. I'm afraid you've already been killed several hours ago."

There was silence for a moment before Sholto answered. "What did you say?"

"Don't take off your belt."

"My belt?"

"Yes." Sherlock turned back to the other three occupants in the hall. "Bainbridge was stabbed hours before we even saw him but it was through his belt. Pipe belt worn high on the waist, very easy to push a small blade through the fabric. You wouldn't even fell it."

Realization dawned on John's face. "The belt would bind the flesh together."

"Exactly."

"But when he took it off . . . ." Imogene started, placing a hand to her side.

"Delayed action stabbing," Sherlock replied. "All the time in the world to create an alibi. Major Sholto?"

They stood there, waiting for the door to be open, but after a while. . . . "Sir I wish to be killed by my uniform. How appropriate."

"He solved the case Major," Mary reminded him. "You're supposed to open the door now. A deals a deal."

"I'm not even supposed to have this anymore," Sholto was saying. "They gave me special dispensation to keep it. I couldn't imagine life outside of this uniform . . . I suppose given the circumstances I won't have to. When so many want you dead, it hardly seems good manners to argue."

"Whatever you're doing in there, James stop it right now!" John said angrily. "I will kick this door down."

"Mr. Holmes, you and I are similar I think."

Sherlock stepped forward. "Yes I think we are."

"There's a proper time to die isn't there?"

"Yes there is."

"And we should embrace it whenever it comes, like a solider."

"Of course we should . . . but not at John's wedding. We wouldn't do that, would we? You and me, we would never do that to John Watson."

There was no response, no sound. The four friends stood in the hallway, time ticking by at an agonizing right. John started to take off his jacket. "I'm going to break it down."

"Wait wait wait," Mary said, reaching for her husband, "you won't have too—"

Just then the door opened. Major Sholto stood there, looking around at the four of them before he sighed. "I believe I am in need of medical attention."

"I believe I am your doctor," John answered, taking off his jacket and walking into the room.

Mary touched Sherlock's arm gently before she took Imogene's hand again, pulling her forward into the room as Sherlock followed after them.

* * *

><p>With the murder solved, the murderer caught, the dancing portion of the reception was able to start. The guests, after such an intense dining experience, were ready for some dancing and fun. Imogene stood off to the side next to Mary and Tom as Sherlock played the violin for John and Mary's first dance. She had always loved listen to Sherlock play and, staying at 221B gave her a lot more opportunities to just sit and watch him do just that. He seemed more open when he was playing, more – just something beautiful.<p>

The music stopped and the guests cheered, though none so much as the Chief Bridesmaid, Janine, who whistled and cheered as if she were at a football game. Imogene shot her an annoyed look as Sherlock put down his violin. "Ladies and gentleman, just one last thing before we can continue. Sorry, for earlier crises arose and was dealt with. More importantly however today we saw two people make vows. I will never make a vow in my life, after tonight, and never will again . . . So here, in front of you, my first and last vow, Mary and John - whatever it takes, no matter what happens, here and now I swear that I will always be there, always . . . for all three of you –"

Imogene tried to contain her gasp as her hands flew to her mouth even as Sherlock hastily fixed his mistake and the music started to play and the couples started to dance. Sherlock approached John and Mary, and she could tell he was trying to explain what had just happen. She started towards them when there was a tap on her arm. "Ms. Weaver?"

Imogene turned from her friends, looking up at a stocky gentleman, straight blond hair, bright green eyes. "Yes, can I help you?"

"Well, I suppose so. I'm Jeremy Brask."

"Jeremy Brask," Imogene muttered, shaking the hand he offered. "You're a friend of Mary's yes? From Uni?"

"Quite a memory you've got there," He replied with a smile.

"Well, when you've addressed enough envelopes," Imogene responded, returning the smile. "Now, what can I help you?"

"Actually," Jeremy chuckled, "I, uh, I've been trying to figure out a way to approach you all day."

Imogene stopped short, surprised. She wasn't used to getting attention from males, hidden behind books and computers. She didn't consider herself pretty and never thought she'd get approached by anyone. After all, when you're so busy being attracted to a man who doesn't even seem to know you exist, it hard to look outside of that to notice anyone else. "Oh?"

"Yea, but you know, you being the wedding coordinator kind of made that difficult. Oh, and let's not forget the attempted murder."

"Yes, let's not forget that," Imogene agreed, grinning.

"So, Ms. Weaver, wedding coordinator extraordinaire," Jeremy said, with a cute little smirk as he held out his hand, "would you care to dance?"

"I –" Imogene looked up as she watched Sherlock walking out of the dance hall. If she chased after him, what did that make her? Ecspecially with Jeremy, definitely handsome, definitely charming Jeremy Brask standing in front of her asking her to dance. . . . But Sherlock was, after all, her friend. . . . "I can't. I'm sorry."

"Oh," Jeremy said, seeming to deflate a bit. "It's alright, I –"

"But rain check?" Imogene interrupted, surprising both herself and Jeremy.

"Yea?" he asked. "Yea, of course! Could I maybe get your number? I don't have my mobile on me but –"

Imogene reached up, grabbing her pen from behind her ear, glad for her note-keeping tendencies. She took his hand, writing her number on his palm. "Don't lose it," she teased.

Jeremy laughed, curling his fingers around it. "Wouldn't dream of it. I'll call you soon, Ms. –"

"Imogene," she told him as she backed away.

"Imogene," he repeated with a crooked smile.

She smiled back before she turned, quickly finding Mary and John to quietly congratulate them on both the wedding and the little surprise Sherlock had blurted out. She hurried out of the hall, grabbing her coat and her purse before running out the door. Sherlock was a bit ahead of her, turning up his collar as he walked away.

"Sherlock!" Imogene called out, running up to him. Surprisingly he stopped, turning to her as she stopped at his side. She smiled up at him. "You left early."

The look on Sherlock's face could only be described as astounded before he erased it, looking at her confused. "So did you."

"I told you I'm not a very good dancer," she reminded him as she slipped her coat on. "Besides my job is done, the wedding's over and I am exhausted. Mary said it was fine if I left. So . . . headed home?"

Sherlock was watching her, an indiscernible look on his face. She shifted for a second under his gaze but was determined not to look away. Finally he took a quick breath, facing forward as he offered his arm. "Fancy some chips?"

Hesitantly, Imogene took it, grinning up at him. "That sounds fantastic."

Together they walked off, away from the party.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I hope this makes up for my absence **


	5. Not quiet Simply Pissed Off

**Disclaimer: I do not own the fabulous world of Sherlock Holmes or any script you may recognize. I only own Imogene Weaver and her thoughts and actions.**

**A/N: Hey guys! Spitting them out. Episode 3 will probably be split into like 4 parts so there are only like maybe 4 chapters left **** S/O to my new readers: Psychodella, Cherokeefox20, , xoxoChairGossipxoxo, Just Kloe Please, Cal10892, and Doctor394. I'm really glad that you guys are enjoying this story though some reviews would be much appreciate. I would love to know what you all like about this or if you have any positive constructive criticisim **** :) Thanks everyone. **

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><p>Her phone rang, shattering her dream, startling her awake. Imogene turned onto her stomach, pressing her face into her pillow as she groped around on the nightstand trying to find her phone. When her fingers finally curled around it, she only lifted her face to see the caller ID so she knew who to be angry with.<p>

"John, it's too early," she murmured, feeling cranky.

"You need to get to St. Bart's," John told her urgently.

She sat up at that, running a hand through her messy curls. "What's happened?"

"We found Sherlock this morning. At a drug den."

Imogene's heart pounded painfully in her chest. She placed a hand against her forehead, silent for a moment before she heard John say her name again. "I – I'm coming, I'll be there."

She hung up the phone, hoping out of the bed and angrily shoving her feet into her trainers, not bothering to change out of her pajamas. She grabbed her long coat and a hat out of her closet, putting them on before she hurried out the door to hail a taxi.

How dare he? _How dare he?_!

By the time she got to St. Bart's everyone else was there as well, Molly going through the motions of checking Sherlock's urine, John standing stoically by a counter while Mary tended to a young man whom Imogene assumed they must have also found at the drug den.

Sherlock stood away from the rest, obviously annoyed, quiet. He glanced up at her as she entered the lab but didn't say anything, only watching as she went and stood by John. She hadn't seen much of the consulting detective, not since she had take to sleeping back at her flat about a month ago. Certain . . . circumstances had made it uncomfortable for Imogene to be at 221B Baker Street.

Imogene and John looked up at the sound of Molly removing the rubber gloves she had been wearing. John stood up straight. "Welp . . . is he clean?"

"Clean?" Molly said sardonically, shaking her head. She stormed over to Sherlock and slapped him, his head snapping to the left. Imogene closed her eyes sadly as Molly slapped the man twice more, the sound of her hand hitting his face like whip through the room. "How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with and how dare you betray the love of your friends? Say you're sorry!"

"Sorry your engagements over, but I'm fairly grateful for the lack of a ring."

"Stop it." Molly backed away from him. "Stop it."

John walked towards Sherlock, his body tense. "If you were anywhere near this kind of thing, you could have called, you could have talked to me."

"Please do relax," Sherlock told everyone. "This is all for a case."

"What kind of case would need you doing this?" John questioned angrily.

Sherlock eyed him. "I might as well ask you why you started cycling to work."

John leveled a finger at his chest. "We're not playing this game."

For a moment, Imogene just watched the two, her own anger and betrayal silently brewing beneath the surface. How could he do this? Just throw everything away for a fix? What about John? What about Molly and Mary and Mrs. Hudson. What about her?

"Is it his shirt?" Everyone looked up at the young man sitting on the counter next to Mary.

Sherlock looked at him, a bit perturbed. "Excuse me?"

"The creases," the man explained. "Two creases down the front. It's been recently folded but it's not new. He must have dressed in a hurry this morning, like that but why? Maybe because you ride your bike to work every morning, shower there and dress in the clothes you brought with you. You keep your shirts folded ready to pack."

There was a slight smirk on Sherlock's face. "Not bad."

"And," the drug addict continued. "I further deduce you've only started recently because you've got a bit of chaffing."

Sherlock shook his head. "No he's always walked like that. . . . Tell me what was your name again?"

"They call me The Wick."

"No they don't."

"Well, they call me Wiggy."

"Nope."

"Bill," he finally admitted, looking a bit put out. "Bill Wiggins."

Sherlock nodded. "Nice observation skills, Billy."

Just then his phone dinged and he pulled out, reading the text message. "Ah, finally."

"What?" Molly asked and Imogene could hear the anger still in her voice.

"Good news?" Bill questioned.

"Fantastic news," Sherlock told them. "The best news, finally. Excuse me for a second."

With that he rushed out the door as if nothing had happened, as if his friends hadn't just found out he was using drugs again. She and John exchanged a glance before they followed the detective, John stopping to give Mary a kiss on the cheek before they left.

* * *

><p>Imogene sat silently in the taxi while her two male friends talked. She was too upset for chit chat and quite honestly just didn't know what to say. Sherlock was sick or going through something and she thought the most hurtful thing was that he hadn't come to her or John but instead went back to his old ways. It was heartbreaking to say the least.<p>

Her phone buzzed and she pulled it out of her robe pocket. A slight smile came to her face as she read the text.

_Are we still on for today, Genie?_

Quickly, she shot back a reply. _Of course. Might be a little late but I wouldn't miss it._

Sherlock spoke up, causing Imogene to break from her thoughts, realizing the taxi had come to a stop. "What is my brother doing here?"

He dashed out of the car, followed shortly by Imogene and John, who shouted out an indignant, "So I'll just pay then shan't I?"

"He's straightened the door knocker," Sherlock was saying. "He always corrects it; he's OCD."

Imogene and John watched as the detective moved the door knocker back in place and opened the door. John hurried behind him. "Why'd you do that?"

"Do what?" Sherlock asked.

John shook his head. "Nothing."

Mycroft was sitting on the stairs when they closed the front door, a snarky grin on his face. "Well then Sherlock . . . back on the sauce?"

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked, his voice and posture tense.

"I phoned him," John told him.

Imogene had had enough. She had a busy day ahead of her and this was definitely not going to keep her in a good mood for it. She walked up the stairs past Mycroft to the flat, hoping that she had some spare clothes in John's room. However, when she went through the door, she was surprised to find Anderson in Sherlock's flat along with a woman she didn't know.

"Hello Imogene," Anderson said as he snooped through Sherlock's lab equipment.

Imogene just stared for a moment. "Right well, I'm sure Sherlock won't be happy."

"No I'm sure he won't," the man said with a smile before he called out, "Mr. Holmes!"

Shaking her head, Imogene walked down the hall to John's room, shooting a glance at Sherlock's door. She took a deep breath before walking into the room and closing the door behind her. She listened to everyone talking while she fished out a pair of clean jeans and a nice top. Nothing too fancy, Mary had told her. It was just a picnic, a day outing. After she got dressed, she figured she'd do her hair and light makeup at home, she walked out the door.

Anderson and his friend were gone and Sherlock was standing out of his armchair, walking past Mycroft to the door. He opened it wide, saying, "Oh yea . . . bye, bye."

Mycroft took a deep breath, walking towards him. "Unwise . . . brother mine."

Sherlock snapped then, moving faster than Imogene thought she had ever seen him move. He grabbed his brother by the arm, twisting it behind his back and shoving the older man against the door. Imogene's hands flew to her mouth as Sherlock leaned towards Mycroft. "Brother mine . . . don't appall me when I'm _high."_

John stepped forward. "Mycroft, don't say another word, just go. He can snap you in two and right now, I'm slightly worried that he might."

After a tense moment, Sherlock let go, walking back towards his chair. Mycroft turned to face him, rubbing his arm and opening his mouth to speak.

"Don't speak," John muttered, handing Mycroft his umbrella. "Just leave."

Mycroft snatched his umbrella away and left in an angry huff. Sighing, Imogene leaned against the counter. Sherlock glanced her way. "You've been quiet."

Imogene chuckled darkly. "Not quiet. Pissed. There's quite a difference."

"Are you going to give me a lecture as well?" Sherlock asked. "Slap me about a bit. I've had enough of that today, thank you."

The Hacker gaped at her friend. "I can't believe you. I can't believe you act as if this isn't a big deal! We have better things to do than worry after your health, Sherlock Holmes."

"Well I'm sorry my cases interfere with your dating life."

If anything, Imogene's eyes widened further. She knew better than to ask him how he knew; he'd tell her anyway. The point was she was not in the mood for this game. "Don't you dare, Sherlock."

"Text messages at all points of the day, that silly little smile that pops up on your face when you read them, not to mention you wear perfume more often and makeup and you actually try to do something with your hair. Let me guess, it's that fellow that approached you at the wedding. Jacob."

"Jeremy," Imogene snapped without thinking.

"Jason. Not your type, I'd say, big, stocky, dumb looking bloke. I wouldn't say you were his type either, too mousy, too plain, too –"

"_At least he sees me_!" Imogene practically screamed before she turned to the kitchen if only to hide the heat rising to her face.

"What the hell does that mean?"

Imogene refused to answer, instead moving to the fridge and ducking down inside of it. She could be so _stupid_ sometimes! How could she say something like that? Sherlock was never to know how she felt about him, how his inattention and obvious lack of caring broke her heart. She put up with it because he was her friend and had been for years but she realized she'd be damned if she stood there and let him insult her and her dating choices when he had no right to say anything about them. It was her life and she could very well date who the hell she pleased and if Sherlock wasn't going to pay her any attention than to hell with him... Still, if only she could keep her big mouth shut. "She's moved everything around, she has. Bloody nuisance if you ask me."

"Uh," John said, obviously trying to change the subject and break the tension. "Magnusson?"

Imogene felt rather than saw Sherlock turn away from her direction, the conversation seemingly forgotten. "What time is it? I have a meeting in three hours. I need a bath."

He started down the hallway towards. Imogene stood up straight to close the fridge when she knew that Sherlock could no longer see her. John glanced at her before he looked down the hall at Sherlock. "It's for a case you said?"

"Too big and dangerous for any normal citizen to be involved in."

There was a slight smirk on John's face when he replied, "You trying to put me off?"

"God no. I'm trying to recruit you. . . . Just stay out of my bedroom." The door shut behind him, living John and Imogene alone. The Hacker sighed, leaning back against the fridge, not surprised when John walked into her line of sight.

"What the hell was that?" John asked, placing his hands on the counter.

"Absolutely nothing," Imogene responded, crossing her arms.

The two friends were quiet for a moment, both thoughtful. John looked up at her. "Are you alright?"

"Peachy."

"… You're seeing Jeremy today then. Jeremy from the wedding?"

"Oh yeah – we've been on a few dates now."

"Great. Does he make you happy at least?"

Imogene couldn't help but smile at that. John worried about her, she knew, probably thought her attraction to Sherlock wasn't very healthy especially if Sherlock was seemingly incapable of returning it. John just didn't understand though; _Sherlock_ made her happy, he made her smile and laugh and she enjoyed her time with him. . . . It was just a terribly tragic thing when the person who makes you so very happy has the capabilities to make you so incredibly sad. "Yes he does."

"Splendid." John clapped his hands together. "So what's in his bedroom?"

The smile fell from her face. "Go back and check if you're so curious."

John leaned back, looking at the door. Glancing at Imogene once more he started walking towards Sherlock's bedroom. Imogene heard the door open, heard _her _speak. "Oh! John . . . hi. How are ya?"

A slight smirk came to Imogene's face when she realized her friend must be speechless. That woman continued to talk, her feet lightly padding on the floor. "Sorry I'm underdressed. Is everyone gone? I heard shouting."

Finally John answered, sounding confused, frazzled and amused all at the same time, "Yes they've gone."

Janine entered the kitchen, dressed only in Sherlock's dress shirt, stopping short and giving Imogene a tight smile. "Hello Gene."

Imogene was proud of hiding her cringe. She hated when Janine called her that. "Good morning."

She couldn't stand the bloody woman if she was honest, and not just because Janine was seeing the man she was interested in. There was something that the Hacker just didn't like about the woman; maybe it was her voice, maybe it was the way she kept moving things as if she lived there, maybe it was just because. Truth be told, Imogene had only stopped spending time at 221B because Janine didn't believe it was 'proper' for two women to be occasionally 'shaking up' at the flat. She failed to realize that Imogene had started staying their first but honestly Imogene thought it might just be that Janine didn't like her much either. Besides, she couldn't stand watching them kiss and they did it quite too often for her liking.

Janine glanced up at the clock. "God look at the time, I'll be late. . . . Sounded like an argument. Was it Mike?"

John looked to Imogene. "Mike?"

"Yay Mike," Janine answered. "They're always fighting."

Realization colored John's face. "Mycroft."

Janine snorted. "Do people actually call him that?"

"Yea."

"Everyone except you," Imogene told her with an extremely false smile.

Janine gave her an equally fake grin before walking towards the hall. "Oh, could you be a love and put the coffee on?" she asked John.

The doctor still looked to be shell shocked, not exactly sure how to process this information. "Sure yea."

"Oh how's Mary," Janine asked as she passed him. "How's married life?"

"She's fine," John said as he walked to the cabinet. "We're both fine."

"Oh it's over there now. Where's Sherl?"

Imogene couldn't suppress her cringe this time as John muttered, "Sherl … He's having a bath. I'm sure he'll be out in just a minute."

Janine laughed. "Oh like he ever is."

John glanced at his friend again who rolled her eyes. "Yea."

Janine walked down the hall again and John and Imogene could hear laughter as she opened the door to the bathroom again, shutting it behind.

"Well," John said, seemingly at lost for words.

"Yea," Imogene responded.

"That just happened."

"Indeed it did."

"Did you -?"

"Yep."

John paused, looking down at the counter. He looked back up at Imogene, his eyes sympathetic. "And you -?"

"On that note, I'm leaving." Imogene checked her pocket for her phone before she walked to the door, grabbing her purse off the couch as she moved. "I have a date to get ready for, thanks. You enjoy . . . this."

Smiling, Imogene walked out the door, ready to push this horrible morning behind. Sherlock would forget their argument, she was sure. He had a habit of deleting things she said from his mind palace, she knew, unimportant things and she knew this definitely fell into that category.


	6. Normal

**Disclaimer: I do not own the world of Sherlock Holmes. Just Imogene :) **

**A/N: Hey all sorry for the long wait! I hope this chapter makes up for my absence. S/O to new readers LittleBlueOcean, kinkymistress87, Vyxen Hexgrim, Arienne Crye, Littlebowkatie, QueenOfLifeAndDeath, and ozlady60. **

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><p>Imogene poured herself another glass of lemonade, leaning back on one hand as she took a sip. She grinned over at Jeremy. "This was a fantastic idea."<p>

Jeremy gave her a small smile before he lay back on the blanket. "Glad you enjoy."

The Hacker looked out over Hyde Park, the blue sky, the soft breeze, the people, their kids, and the simple . . . normalcy to it all. She didn't think she had ever done anything remotely this normal, especially not considering the people she hung out with. Not that she minded this, of course. It was nice to do something so simple and enjoyable.

Beside her, Jeremy stared up at the sky, taking a deep breath in before he said, "So, tell me about him."

Imogene sat her lemonade down, looking over to her date. "Tell you about who?"

Jeremy looked up at her with that same small smile. "The guy who's got you so angry."

"I'm not angry."

"You were this morning. Quiet Genie is an angry Genie and this morning you were definitely quiet. Plus, when you're sitting idly, you get this look on your face."

"What look?"

"I don't know . . . a bit exasperated, a bit annoyed, and a bit affectionate."

"What makes you think it's a guy?"

"You didn't deny it."

Sighing, Imogene lay down next to Jeremy. She could feel his eyes on her as she stared up on the sky. His shoulder nudged hers. "So…."

"So, he's arsehole."

"So my chances are good." Imogene nudged Jeremy back as he laughed. "I'm just saying, if he's an arsehole than that means I have a good fighting chance."

"A fighting chance?"

"Yeah." Jeremy looked over at her. "I'd say you're too good to give up, Ms. Weaver."

Imogene stared back, a slight smile on her face. For all good reasons, she could fall for a guy like Jeremy. He was sweet, he was charming and not to mention good looking. But then again . . . .

Would he like her when he learned that she was a retired criminal?

Would he like her if she wasn't so good?

That arsehole may be an arsehole but he understood her far better than anyone else in the world.

She could imagine a life with Jeremy though, something normal. He probably made enough money to the point that she wouldn't have to work in the bookstore. Maybe she could go back to school, earn a degree that mattered. Maybe they'd get married and she'd be a stay at home mom. The kids would go to school, they'd be brilliant she was sure, and she and Jeremy could live happy regular lives. No running through the streets of London, no almost being killed, no danger. . . . She could imagine a life with Jeremy.

But could she imagine a life without Sherlock?

She believed that if it meant not always wondering, not having her heart broken, not suffering she could . . .

Imogene grinned at Jeremy. "Well, this is the best date I've ever been on."

Jeremy smiled back. "Score count is Jeremy 1, Mystery Guy 0."

After her date with Jeremy, Imogene spent the rest of the day in her apartment, attempting to focus on normal things, not even daring to touch her computer. She read a book, did a puzzle and even attempted to cook dinner (which turned out to be a horrible idea; best to order take out). By the end of the night, she was quite disgusted to realize she was bored. Her only consoling factor was that if she were to quit anything that made her not normal, at least she would have Jeremy to keep her from being bored . . . hopefully.

After the third puzzle she was back to reading her book, nearing the last chapter when her phone rang. She looked down at the screen, rolling her eyes. So much for her normal evening. "What is it John? Find Sherlock in another drug den?"

"Imogene –!"

There was a lot of noise in the background. Imogene could barely hear what John was trying to say. She leaned forward in her seat. "John? John is everything okay?"

"Sherlock – Sherlock is –"

She was standing now. "John what's happened? John?"

"Shot – hospital –"

No.

The answer was definitely no.

She couldn't imagine a life without Sherlock.

There was a pounding in her ears as the phone fell from her hand. She grabbed her trainers, a jumper and her wallet as she hurried out the door. Barefoot, she hailed a cab, shouting the address.

_Shot._

The word echoed in her ears as she shoved her feet into her trainers and her arms through the sleeves of her jumper. How, what, why? Was it serious? Was he conscious? Was he –?

The cab ride seemed to take forever and Imogene was having a hard time sitting still, a hard time breathing, a hard time trying not to cry. What if he wasn't alright? What if she never got to speak with him again? What if the last thing she ever said to him was out of anger?

As soon as they reached the hospital, Imogene jumped out, running through the double door and up to the receptionist desk. "I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes."

The woman looked up, her glasses perched on the edge of her nose. "Are you a relation?"

Before she could stop herself, her palm slammed down on the counter. "Just tell me where the bloody room is!"

"Imogene!" The girl in question looked up, relieved to find John at the top of the stairs. Ignoring the receptionist she took the stairs two at a time. John grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. "It's okay. Hey, calm down."

"Where is he?" Imogene pulled back to look at her other friend. John looked tired and worn and worried. "Is he alright? Can we see him?"

"He's in intensive care right now," John explained as he guided her to sit down in the waiting room chair. "They are doing all that they can but . . . Imogene it doesn't look good."

Imogene pulled her feet into the chair resting her chin on her knees. "John . . . John what do we do?"

"We wait. Sherlock – he's tougher than this. . . . I'm going to go get coffee. Do you want some?"

Imogene shook her head and John left her alone. 'Wait', he said. How could she just wait? Reaching back, she pulled her hood over her head, placing her forehead against her knees as tears streaked down her face.

Sherlock.

Come back.

* * *

><p>Sherlock lay on the dirty floor of that cell, trapped in his own mind palace. He had tried to follow what he knew, tried to fight this final destination but he was tired. He was finding it hard to breath, hard to focus. All he could hear was Moriarty whispering in his ears.<p>

"You're really letting them down, Sherlock," the crazed man said. "John Watson and Imogene Weaver are definitely in danger."

John.

Imogene.

He couldn't leave them. They didn't know about Mary.

He pulled himself up as Moriarty watched. "Oh no. You're not getting better are you?"

Sherlock fell against the wall as he tried to get up. He had to try, he had to force his way back. He had to get back.

He was out the door as Moriarty screamed behind him, trying to get him to stop and come back but he couldn't do that. They were in danger.

Sherlock forced his way up the stairs. It was hard work and tough going but he had to try, he had to keep going if he was going to escape his own mind, if he was going to wake up.

"Sherlock." He looked up, surprised to see a figure at the very top of the stairs, reaching out to him. "Come on, keep going, you can do it. Come on Sherlock, climb!"

Sherlock carried on up the stairs, straining for the person. He reached forward, his hand grasping to that person's, feeling them wrap their other (much smaller, long fingers, slightly calloused, feminine) hand around his wrist and pulling him towards them.

"That's it." Sherlock looked up. Imogene smiled at him, tilting her head in that way that she did as she grinned, looking so happy to see him. She was always so happy to see him, he thought, feeling himself smile at her as well as she reached forward to push his hair off his forehead. "You've done it, you brilliant, stupid man."

Sherlock opened his eyes.

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><p>Imogene walked towards Sherlock's hospital room, holding the bouquet of flowers close to her chest. It was still early morning, visiting hours having started maybe a half-hour earlier but she found it hard to wait any longer. Everyone else had been to visit him after he had woken up (John, Mary, and Lestrade, she meant), but she had kept putting it off. The thought of seeing him so weak and vulnerable made her nervous though she supposed it shouldn't. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen her equally as vulnerable. She was having a hard time imagining it though.<p>

Just as she reached for the door knob, it was pushed open. Janine came out, looking quite satisfied with herself though slightly disappointed. She held newspaper clippings in her hand and Imogene thought she glimpsed Sherlock's face in the picture.

"Oh, hello Gene," Janine said, giving her a small smile.

"Imogene," the Hacker responded. She nodded down to the papers in the other woman's hand. "What do you have there?"

Janine lifted the clippings up, holding them so that Imogene could see them. Sherlock's face was indeed on the front, along with the charming title of "Shag-A-Lot Holmes" written in bold above his picture. "I sold my story, made a little money. Might as well have gotten something."

Imogene didn't think Janine and Sherlock had gotten far enough in their relationship to have sex but she sure as hell didn't want to ask if they had. John had told her the truth behind Sherlock's incorporation of Janine in his life; how she was only a means for him to get closer to Magnussen. Sure, that must have stung and Imogene could imagine being furious. But still. . . . "That seems a little vindictive."

"They say 'Hell hath no fury'."

"Yes well . . . enjoy your earnings," Imogene replied. She walked past Janine, intent on putting Sherlock's door between her and the brunette.

"I'd be careful, Imogene, if I were you," Janine said from behind her. Imogene stopped, turning to face her. "I can tell you care about Sherl, but can do you really think he'd be the best thing for you? What do you really know about him? You're a sweet girl, he'll do nothing but hurt you. And, obviously, he's a bit off."

"You don't know anything Sherlock and I," Imogene told her.

"Maybe not you, but I know Sherl. I know what kind of man he really is."

_You've only known him a month!_ Imogene wanted to scream. She controlled herself though, reaching around to grab the door knob. "Hang on," she muttered. She looked back at Janine. "Sherlock isn't perfect; he's a right arse. He's arrogant and rude and can be oh so unpleasant . . . but he's amazing, that man. He's brilliant. So maybe you supposedly know more about him and that's fine. Sherlock is the most complicated, most frustrating code I have ever come across but I enjoy every single moment I have with him because as every professional Hacker knows, the most intricate codes are the best ones."

Janine was staring at Imogene as if she didn't quite know how to respond to her. Instead, she simply nodded. "Good bye Imogene."

"Good bye Janine." With that, Imogene pushed open the door, walking into Sherlock's room. She felt lighter, having gotten all of that off her chest. She turned from the door, surprised to see Sherlock's bed propped up. He was watching her, a slight grimace on his face but a calculating look in his eyes. "Good morning."

"Good morning," he responded. "You're here early."

"Thought you could use some company." She walked to his beside, putting the flowers in the vase. She glanced over in his direction. "You've turned down your morphine. Are you alright?"

"I needed to think clearly."

Imogene sat down next to his bed. "What are you thinking about?"

He turned his blue gaze on her. Talking to Jeremy and to Janine made her realize a lot of different things. Sherlock made her angry, he made her sad, but he also made her one of the happiest people in all of London. God, did she love this man and from now on, she wasn't going to let him push her away anymore. So instead of looking away like she normally would, she tilted her head and smiled at him. Surprisingly, Sherlock looked away this time. "Tell me about your date with Joffrey."

"Jeremy."

"Gerald."

Shaking her head, Imogene responded. "It was . . . normal."

"Is normal good?"

Imogene hesitated. "I don't know anymore."

Sherlock nodded. The two of them sat in silence for a while but Imogene didn't mind. The fact that Sherlock could even just sit there was wonderful. She was content to let him just sit there and think as she had some things to think about as well. It wasn't normal, the two of them would never be that.

But normal was boring.

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><p><strong>AN: Sorry for the long wait! I hope you liked this :)! Thanks for reading. **


	7. A Message

**Disclaimer: I do not own the world of Sherlock Holmes or the TV show Sherlock. Credit for the transcript goes to Ariane DeVere**

**A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and who has enjoyed this story! S/o to new readers: WolvesandNutellaLover, LeafyBee, GryffindorGurrl, xxnenarxx, Cosmic Nightowl, KirikaAndo, and TheSalemWItch. You guys are amazing!**

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><p>Imogene rushed to the door, the pounding echoing through the flat. "I'm coming, I'm coming. Hold your flipping horses!"<p>

She threw open the door, eyes going wide at the sight in front of her. "Sherlock?"

The man looked awful. Anyone else might not have been able to tell, standing up straight and proud as he was but he was pale and there was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. He nodded. "Hello Imogene."

"You stupid man!" Imogene cried, not really sure if to hug him or hit him but she didn't want to touch him. "What in the hell are you doing here?"

"I am in need of your help," he told her. "I need you to grab your computer gear and a projector. There's a message I have to deliver."

"I'm not doing anything of the sort!" Imogene hurried into her apartment and grabbed her cell off of the kitchen counter. "I'm calling an ambulance and John. I'm sure he's worried sick about you."

"No." Her fingers had barely dialed the first nine before Sherlock grabbed her shoulder and pulled her around to face him. His hands went up, cupping her face. "I need you to listen to me. Right now, John needs our help and I need you."

Imogene stared back at him, into his fantastic blue eyes. He looked frantic and worried. She couldn't remember a time when she hadn't seen the man composed. She let her phone fall to her side. "What do you need me to do?"

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><p>Imogene ran cords along the ground to her hiding spot behind a bush in front of one of the mock houses of Leinster Gardens. She had already uploaded a picture of Mary from the wedding to the projector slides which Sherlock told her was mostly for dramatic effect. She stopped for a moment, leaning forward on her knees and pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes.<p>

"Are you alright?"

She didn't want to move her hands away from her eyes but she did so to look up at Sherlock and the tears leaked free. "No I'm not. I'm pissed off, I'm bloody furious, I'm – going to kill her."

"She didn't kill me," Sherlock responded.

"No but she could have. You almost died. I don't know if I can forgive her for that."

"She needs our help, Imogene."

"So why tell John then? Does he really need to know? Does he really need to suffer anymore?"

Sherlock kneeled down as best as he could and placed a hand her shoulder. "You know as well as I do that we couldn't – we wouldn't – keep this from him."

His phone buzzed and Sherlock checked the screen. "It's time."

He dialed the cell phone he had given Bill Wiggins. He paused for a second, nodding to Imogene. Imogene typed out a quick message and then put on her headphones. "Can't you see me?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, what am I looking for?" came Mary's voice through the headphones.

"The lie – the lie of Leinster Gardens – hidden in plain sight. People live here for years and never notice it, but if you are what I think you are, it'll take you less than a minute. . . . The houses, Mary. Look at the houses."

Mary paused. "How did you know I'd come here?"

"I knew you'd talk to people that no one else would bother talking too."

The woman laughed. "I thought I was being clever."

"You're always clever, Mary. I was relying on that. I planted the information for you to find."

Mary stopped again. "Ooh."

Sherlock checked his watch, nodding. "Thirty seconds."

"What am I looking at?" Mary asked.

"No door knobs, no letter boxes, painted windows. . . . Twenty-three and twenty-four Leinster Gardens. The empty houses. They were demolished years ago to make way for the London Underground, a vent for old steam trains. Only the very front of the house remains. Just a façade." Sherlock placed a gentle hand on his chest. Imogene went to stand, to check on him, but he shook his head. "Remind you of anyone, Mary? A façade."

Sherlock looked down at Imogene and the Hacker typed on her computer. In front of them, the beautiful picture of Mary appeared, stretching down from the third to the first floor.

"Sorry, I could never resist a touch of drama."

"You've brought Imogene then," Mary replied. "You needn't have involved her."

"Do come in," Sherlock said, ignoring her. "It's a little cramped."

"Do you own this place?"

"Mhmm. I won in a card game against the Clarence House Cannibal. Nearly lost my kidneys but fortunately I had a straight flush. Quite a gambler that woman."

Mary entered the house, the door closing behind her. "What do you want, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked at Imogene, motioning for her to stay where she was as he walked towards the door. She could still hear the pair of them over the headphones. "Mary Morstan was stillborn in October 1972. Her gravestone is in Chiswick Cemetery where – five years ago – you acquired her name and date of birth and thereafter her identity. That's why you don't have 'friends' from before that date. It's an old enough technique known to the kind of people who can recognize a skip-code on sight, have extraordinary retentive memories."

Imogene typed on her computer. A tiny screen popped up and she could see Mary, facing her, standing about halfway down the hallway. The woman tilted her head. "You were very slow."

"How good a shot are you?"

Mary took her gun out, cocking it and holding it down at her side. Imogene's hands went up to her mouth. "How badly do you want to find out?"

"If I die here, my body will be found in a building with your face projected on the front of it. Even Scotland Yard can get somewhere with that. I want to know how good you are. Go on. The doctor's wife must be a little bit bored by now."

Imogene watched as Mary took a coin from her pocket. She flipped it up into their and Imogene jumped when the shot echoed through her headphones. Imogene looked away from her screen as Sherlock walked through the door. "May I see?" came his voice.

On the screen, Mary looked behind her to Sherlock and then looked back towards Imogene, towards the camera on a jacket facing her and she laughed. "It's a dummy. I suppose it was a fairly obvious trick."

She walked towards the dummy, her foot stepping down on the coin she had shot so that she could slide it to Sherlock. The Consulting Detective bent down and picked up the coin. "And yet, from a distance of six feet, you failed to make a kill shot. Enough to hospitalize me; not enough to kill me. That was a miss. That was surgery…. I'll take the case."

"What case?"

"Yours. Why didn't you come to me in the first place?"

"Because John can't ever know that I lied to him. It would break him and I would lose him forever – and Sherlock, I can never let that happen. Please. There is nothing in this world that I wouldn't do to stop that from happening."

Sherlock walked away from her to the fuse box behind him. "Sorry. Not that obvious of a trick."

The lights came on, blocking Imogene's view for a moment but then the camera began to rise as the person wearing the jacket stood up. He walked slowly towards Mary and Sherlock and Imogene watched the realization and despair slowly form on the other woman's face.

She wasn't sure how long they stood in that corridor but eventually the door opened. Sherlock walked out, followed by Mary and then John. John walked past the pair of them and then down the street. Mary stood shock still by the front door of the mock house. Imogene shut down her computers and the projector, standing up from her hiding space with the bundle of equipment shoved haphazardly into a bag in her arms. The other woman looked at her and Imogene looked away, following after John.

It was going to be a long night.

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><p><strong>AN: I hope this was as enjoyable to you as it was for me to write! Thank you so much for reading!**


	8. Questions Answered

**Disclaimer: I do not own the world of Sherlock.**

**A/n: Hey everyone! Sorry for the late! S/o to my new readers: Stupid Face 394, 333krispy, and bookaddict616. You guys are awesome!**

The next few months passed quietly enough in an odd sort of way. Sherlock had made a full recovery and, so it seemed, taken on Mary's 'case' quietly, solo. That, of course, worried Imogene a bit as he wouldn't quite tell anyone what he was up to. Then, out of the blue, he invited the lot of them, her, Mary, and John out to his parent's house for Christmas that year which was completely uncharacteristic of him. As always, Imogene wasn't quite sure what was heads or tail with Sherlock.

Mary and John were on the outs for the obvious reasons, not speaking despite the fact that they were currently still married and Mary was getting more pregnant by the day, her stomach days in front of her now. Imogene and Sherlock could do nothing about the two of them though until John made a move.

Mary and Imogene were on their way to mending, slowly. After that evening, when Sherlock had declared he'd take her case and been rushed back to the hospital (that crazy fool), Imogene had left without another word to her former friend. Mary had called, Imogene had sent it to voicemail. Mary had knocked at her door, Imogene had ignored it. Then one day, Imogene came up from the shop and found Mary sitting on her couch, drinking tea.

"Part of the trade," Mary had said, giving her a tight smile. "I made us a cuppa."

They hadn't talked that evening, Imogene hadn't asked any questions but that cup of tea had been a start. Imogene was the only one person Mary could really come to with John giving her the silent treatment. She still knew less about Mrs. Watson than she had before but she found she didn't want to know. She liked _her _Mary, the one who teased her about Sherlock, about Jeremy and who made her laugh, her first girlfriend. Imogene thought that they would eventually make it there again but it would take a while.

She and Jeremy stopped seeing each other after a few more dates. Not that she didn't still think him an incredible man, but she thought he deserved someone who could be honest with him about everything. She didn't think she could handle what happened to Mary and John happening to her and Jeremy.

As for Sherlock . . . well, that was a bridge she decided didn't need to be crossed, not with everything else, though she realized that something was a little off with her good friend. The way he looked at her was different and sometimes he avoided eye contact all together. He always seemed to have something to say but never really got around to saying it. She figured it was just Sherlock being Sherlock and that, eventually whatever was bugging him would fix itself.

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><p>He wasn't quite sure what drove him to her doorstep in the middle of the night, but there he was. Ever since the trip through his mind palace, struggling to survive, a certain thought had continued to dance through his mind about his Hacker.<p>

Imogene.

He had a theory he needed to test, questions he needed answered, things that didn't make sense and now was a good a time as any, he figured.

Sherlock knocked on the door, quietly at first, than harder, insistently. By his twelfth knock, the bolt was moved and the door was flung open. Imogene glared at him, looking positively venomous. "What do you want?"

He stared at her a second, taking in her bed-ridden hair, the robe thrown on haphazardly over her night clothes. He supposed Imogene was attractive in a way. She had the symmetrical face that typically made people 'pretty', though her eyes seemed too big, her nose too small. She wasn't the average height for a woman, a bit too short, but he supposed he could see the appeal (he would be a liar if he said he minded the way her curls framed her face). However, he had always known Imogene was more than an appealing face. He was never one to lean to the side of beauty, but more so to the mind, how clever a person was, and Imogene had always proven herself to be clever, always ready to challenge the way he thought even if she didn't realize it.

"That's a very pleasant greeting," Sherlock muttered, as he moved past her into the flat.

"Well you have to excuse me. I don't usually greet people pleasantly when they come round at 3:00 in the morning." Imogene closed the door, turning to face her friend with her arms across her chest.

Sherlock shed his coat, throwing it onto her arm chair before laying down on the couch, his fingers touching in front of his mouth. "I did send you a text."

"Might I repeat that it's three in the morning, Sherlock Holmes. I was sleeping." Sherlock laid there, not moving, not speaking until Imogene sighed. "Would you like some tea?"

_Always proper_, Sherlock thought, but, again, he did not respond. He imagined her rolling her eyes, like she was custom to do around him. He heard her move forward, felt her hands against his ankles before she pushed his feet off the couch. He opened his eyes to see her curled up in the corner of the couch, her head resting against the back of it. "Did you come over here for a reason? We are due to wake up in nearly three hours to travel to your parent's house. I'd really like to get some rest before –"

"Do you remember what you yelled at me?" Sherlock asked her, eyes focused on the ceiling.

"I yell at you a lot," Imogene responded, which Sherlock realized was one of the reasons he kept her around. She wasn't afraid to tell him off, that's for sure. "You'll have to be more specific."

"You were getting ready to go on a date." He felt rather than saw her shift, startled, shocked, surprised. "It was with that – that man you met at John's wedding. Justin?"

"Jeremy."

"Jared. You said, 'At least he sees me.'"

Imogene paused and Sherlock felt her shift again, obviously uncomfortable with the direction of this conversation. "I was hoping you would forget that."

"Why?"

"It wasn't important. You usually delete stuff like that."

"I didn't delete it. I stored it for later. I meant to return to it sooner rather than later but you'll have to beg pardon if I wasn't a little distracted these last couple of months. Also, it wasn't unimportant. Most everything you have to say is important. Now," Sherlock said, sitting up and placing his elbows on his knees. Imogene was staring at the wall in front of her, her big eyes wide with astonishment, like a deer in the headlights. He wondered why this was so startling, why she was so unprepared for this conversation. Sure the argument had been months ago but still. "I want you to tell me what you meant."

She wouldn't look at him directly, he noticed, her gaze coming from the corner of her eye. He gazed back, waiting for her to speak. Finally she sighed, turning to face him, sitting on her knees with her hands in her lap. "Alright, but you asked for it. . . . Sherlock, I want you to look at me."

Sherlock frowned. "I am looking at you."

Imogene shook her head, frustrated. "No. No you're not, you never really have. Just – look at me."

He sat forward, staring at her with that intense gaze of his. A blush came to her face as she stared back. She was leaning towards him, eyes intent and - Sherlock stopped as Imogene's head tilted in that way that she did. She reached forward, her fingers, long, delicate, slightly calloused, lightly straightening his collar. Her eyes softened then and he saw it, just there. Affection, warmth, definitely not just friendship. The realization must have shown on his face. Imogene smiled slightly. "That's it. You brilliant, stupid man."

She always called him that. He had always considered it to be her form of an insult. Now he realized it was definitely something more. A lot of things were starting to make so much more sense. Sherlock, found himself surprisingly speechless. He sat back. "Oh."

Imogene sat back as well, shrugging. "You always say there's always something you miss."

The consulting detective didn't know quite what to say, especially after everything. He looked at her and then at the ground and then back at her. He cleared his throat. "You never said anything."

"Well, to be quite honest I never thought I would have to what with you being the 'world's only consulting detective'. I thought it would just be something you noticed. And I never said anything," Imogene interrupted when she saw him open his mouth, "because I didn't want to mess up what I already had with you."

Sherlock was silent, his fingers in front of his mouth as he stared at the ground. Well . . . a question was answered, not necessarily a question he had posed, but he supposed it was all connected. It was always the questions you didn't ask that got answered. Imogene patted her hands on her knees, standing up from the couch. "Alright, well, I think I've embarrassed myself enough to last an entire month. I'm going to bed. You're more than welcome to camp out on the couch till –"

"Why?"

The question slipped out before he realized it had and he admitted to himself that he was a little embarrassed he asked it but it didn't make sense. He knew himself well enough to realize that he was not the best person or easy to get on with and he had never really cared to be. Imogene was friendly and kind to everyone, even Anderson who treated her like dirt. Of course most of her friendliness towards certain people was a charade but it got her by, helped her to fit in. He could never do that. He had always thought that she sometimes pretended to be kind to him only to find out she had been hiding something else entirely. They didn't seem to fit together, the two of them and, while he was questioning his . . . _sentiments_ toward her, he had never really expected that she'd have sentiments towards _him_.

He kept his gaze on the floor but he heard the Hacker stop and turn towards him, pausing. "Have you ever seen the way John looks at Mary?"

Sherlock looked up then, surprised to find her smiling. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I like to think that, when we're born, there's something placed in us, a blueprint of sorts, a code that leads us to this very specific person. This is the person we're meant to find, care for, stick with. They just . . . they just fit with you and they are perfect. No matter what … no matter what other people think, if they think they are weird or crazy or – or a psychopath, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because all of their flaws just make them so much more beautiful. Perfect imperfections. You don't see what can make them different. You just . . . see _them_. That's how John looks at Mary and – and that's the way I look at you." Imogene's face was bright red. "And now I've embarrassed myself for a whole millennium, I really am going to bed."

Imogene turned around, heading for her room. Sherlock watched her go, thinking he should say something, ought to say something. He stood to his feet. "Imogene."

She stopped and turned and Sherlock found himself again at a loss for words. Her 'too big' eyes where bright in the dim light of the living room . . . had her eyes always been that bright? For the first time in a long time, Sherlock, who always knew what to say even if it wasn't the right thing, had nothing to say. "Good night."

Imogene watched him for a moment and Sherlock found himself trying not to fidget under her gaze. He almost wished he had something else to say but this needed to be processed and analyzed and contemplated. The Hacker's fingers curled around the pocket of her robe as she smiled. "Good night, Sherlock."

She hurried to her room, closed the door. Sherlock wondered if he should go after her, make sure she was alright but he still wasn't quite sure how to respond to any of this.

'_You just . . . see _them.' That's what she said. He supposed that made sense in a strange sort of way. He had accepted Imogene, despite the fact that she was a reformed thief with a twisted sense of right and wrong and an abnormal sense of excited. Is that what she meant?

Sherlock picked up his coat, draping it over his arm. He cast one last glance at Imogene's bedroom door before he let himself out, locking the door behind him.

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><p><strong>AN: And the truth is out! Hope you all liked his chapter and I hope it made up for my silly absences! Thanks guys :) Please review and let me know what you thought!**


	9. Christmas

**Disclaimer: I do not own the world of Sherlock Holmes, unfortunately.**

**A/N: Hey guys! I apologize for the wait! S/O to new readers beautiful sun, passingwhisper, almal01, GoDrinkPinesol624, Valkyrie101, iocane and cough drops, karlachamenleon, Readergirl99, It's been a busy month. I hope this makes up for it!**

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><p>"Imogene." The Hacker stopped in the hallway as Sherlock practically cornered her. She eyed him warily, not quite sure what to do with this sudden interaction. When she had woken up that morning, not quite surprised that Sherlock was gone and when she had met him, John, and Mary at 221B, he had barely said a word to her. She figured this was the beginning of the end; he didn't want to uninvite her but after Christmas, she probably wouldn't hear from him again. Everything had changed, all because she couldn't keep her mouth shut. He gave her a smile, lips closed but a wide smile. "You are looking lovely today."<p>

Sighing, Imogene shook her head. "What do you want?"

Sherlock frowned at her. "Who says I want anything?"

"Because you gave me a compliment, a direct compliment," Imogene explained. "You don't ever do that unless you want something from me."

"That's not true," Sherlock said, trying to defend himself. Imogene frowned, crossing her arms. Sherlock sighed. "Fine. I need a favor."

Rolling her eyes, Imogene leaned back against the wall. "What is it?"

"I need the password to Mycroft's laptop."

Imogene's eyes widened and she stood up straight. "Are you bloody serious?"

"Incredibly serious, yes."

"Sherlock," Imogene said, lowering her voice to a harsh whisper, "Mycroft's laptop holds state secrets. If we're caught tampering with it, hell, even _looking _at it, we could go to jail for treason. Mycroft could have us exiled!"

"So we best not get caught," Sherlock responded. "Are you going to help me or not?"

Imogene hesitated. She really shouldn't, not with everything, but. . . . "I haven't really got a choice, do I? Is . . . is that the only reason you brought me out here?"

"It is part of the reason, but it's not the only reason. . . . And you're wrong, you know. I don't only compliment you when I need something."

Imogene stared up at him. "What am I supposed to say to that?"

Sherlock gazed back at her. She thought she saw his hand move, as if reaching for her but he stopped himself. "Imogene –"

The door opened from the kitchen and Mrs. Holmes walked in. She glanced at the two of them. "What's going on in here then?"

"Nothing," Sherlock and Imogene both said at the same time, Imogene realizing that Sherlock had to take a step back from her. Her face felt like it was on fire, standing here in front of his mum, feeling like a teenager.

The older woman 'hmmed', handed Imogene a glass of punch, and walked through the other door to the sitting room, a cup of tea in her hand for Mary. Sherlock turned back to Imogene, what he had been about to say forgotten. "I can give you five minutes, thirty-three seconds."

"That's oddly specific."

"We have a specific time crunch. Go on, tell Mycroft I'll be waiting for him outside. Tell him I want to speak to him."

"So you're going out for a smoke. It's a nasty habit you know."

"So everyone tells me. By the way, don't drink the punch . . . or the tea." He walked past her and Imogene went on into the kitchen, looking down at the punch cup oddly. Billy Wiggins was sitting on the counter, eating crisps. He sent her a wink and she couldn't help but roll her eyes. The Elder Holmes brother sat at the kitchen table, his laptop in front of him.

"Mycroft," Imogene said, sitting down next to him. "Sherlock's waiting for you outside. He wants to speak with you."

"It's about time," Mycroft muttered. He cleared his throat, fastened his suit jacket and hurried out the door.

"Best hurry, love," Billy said.

"You shut your trap, thanks," Imogene responded, sliding the computer over in front of her. Password codes, she needed to remember her password codes. Five minutes . . . way to give a time crunch Sherlock.

Mrs. Holmes came back in the kitchen, looking over at Imogene. "I didn't know Myc let anyone else use his computer."

Imogene grasped at some napkins, dabbing at the keyboard as she typed in her codes. "Ah well yes, I just spilled my punch all over the keyboard and I'd really like to clean it up before he notices."

"Right to do so." Mrs. Holmes marched to the counter, pouring herself another glass of punch. She sipped on it, her eyes never leaving Imogene, which made the Hacker a little unnerved. The older woman smiled. "He likes you, you know."

"Who? Mycroft? He's always quick to say he 'abhors' me."

"_He_ thinks you're clever." When Imogene looked up, Mrs. Holmes nodded. "Oh I can tell. He's my son after all, isn't he? It's the way he talks to you. Those Holmes boys, you can just sort of tell. Myc thinks you're bright. I just think he worries about the people Sherlock gets to know but he's taken quite a shine to you. But I was talking about Sherlock."

Imogene was beginning to understand where the 'Holmes boys' got their behavior from. "What about Sherlock?"

"He fancies you, quite a bit, if I do say so myself. My Holmes boy was exactly the same way." Mrs. Holmes grinned slyly in her direction. "He watches you when you're not looking. When your close enough, he almost reaches as if to touch you but he stops because he's so unsure, my boy. Your smiles make him smile. But besides all that, he brought you here. Billy and Myc don't have a lot of friends and bringing them here to meet the family, that's a big deal. Now," Mrs. Holmes grinned at the horrible blush on Imogene's face, "where are those two boys of mine?"

"Oh, well, I think I saw them step outside for a moment," Imogene muttered.

The smile fell from Mrs. Holmes's face. "They better not be smoking."

She marched over to the back door, flinging it open. With her back turned, Imogene was able to finally type in the last of the code, watching it load and produce the possible password combinations. She scanned it quickly, writing down possible entries, knowing that Sherlock would be able to figure it out.

Sherlock… No, Mrs. Holmes didn't know what she was talking about. Sherlock. . . Sherlock didn't _fancy _her. Sherlock Holmes didn't just fancy someone. Look what happened to Janine, that – that woman.

Imogene slid the computer back into its original places as Mrs. Holmes closed the door, reaching over to grab her punch. Imogene looked to Billy, who cleared his throat and checked his watch. The Matriarch yawned, sitting down in an armchair. "I don't know what's come over me. I'm feeling rather tired."

The door opened and Mycroft came inside. He didn't look himself either, Imogene figuring something was wrong when he plopped down in his seat. Figuring she had sat down to long and hadn't heard a peep from the Watsons, she got up, moving out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

"Oi!"

At that, she quickened her pace, rushing past a sleeping Mr. Holmes and into the sitting room. She gasped at the sight of Mary, limp in John's arms. "What in the world happened?"

"She just passed out!" John pulled Mary up and put her in a nearby armchair. "Mary? Can you hear me?"

The door opened behind them, causing the Hacker and the Blogger to look up sharply. Sherlock nodded and looked to John. "Don't drink Mary's tea! Or the punch!"

Imogene spun around, following after Sherlock as he hurried into the hallway and then into the kitchen. "Sherlock, what the bloody hell is –"

"Did you get the password?" He asked, cutting her off as he checked his mother and brother's breathing.

"Of sorts." Imogene took the list out of her pocket and pressed it into his hand. "Your brother's a genius but I managed to narrow it down to a few possibilities. I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out."

As she went to take her hand away, Sherlock tightened his grip around hers. He was watching her, that intense gaze of his bright. "You are brilliant, Imogene."

The Hacker blinked. She could count on one hand how many times Sherlock had given her a direct compliment like that. "Thank you?"

The door opened and John came in, fuming. Imogene expected Sherlock to let go of her hand at the sudden intrusion but he didn't. John didn't even seem to notice. "Did you just drug my pregnant wife?"

Sherlock looked up at his friend. "Don't worry. Wiggins is an excellent chemist."

"I caculaed your wife's does meself," Billy told John. "I'll keep an eye on 'er."

"He'll monitor their recovery. It's more or less his day job."

John and Imogene both stared at Sherlock, confused and apprehensive. John was the first one to break the silence. "What the hell have you done?"

Sherlock paused, looking down to the computer resting under Mycroft's hand. "A deal with the devil."

John ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, Jesus. Sherlock . . . please tell me you haven't gone out of your mind."

"I'd rather keep you guessing." The sound of helicopter blades cut through the air, causing the three friends to look towards the back door. Sherlock smiled slightly. "Ah. There's our lift. John, could you do me a favor and allow me a moment with Imogene."

John seemed to notice their hands for the first time since he came into the kitchen. He looked up a Sherlock and then back to Imogene. "Er. . . . yeah, I'll – I'll just go get my things shall I?"

With one last glance at the pair of them, John hurried out of the kitchen. Imogene looked around at Mrs. Holmes and Mycroft. "Why didn't you put me to sleep too? Why did you warn me about the punch and the tea?"

"Well I couldn't leave Wiggins in charge, now could I?"

"Oi, I'm right here," Wiggins said, crossing his arms.

"So you are." Sherlock looked back at Imogene. "I imagine everyone will be in much safer hands with you."

Imogene shook her head. "You two are going off to do something stupid, aren't you?"

"John? Of course not. Me? Well. . . ." Sherlock smiled at her. "It's safest if you stay here and I need someone else here to watch over everyone."

"Right," Imogene replied looking out the corner of her eye at the strange man standing by the counter. She looked up at Sherlock again, finding him still watching her. "So . . . what are you waiting for?"

"Yes, well. . . ." He looked away for a second before looking back to her, seemingly uncomfortable. "Imogene. About last night –"

"Really?" Imogene asked, appalled as she pulled her hand away. "You're going to do this now? Honestly, you have the strangest timing. Look, you don't have to say anything. It was dumb really, I don't know what I was expecting. I just –"

"I see you."

Imogene froze, all thoughts erased. She looked back up at the man in front of her. "What did you say?"

"You are impossible," Sherlock muttered. His hand wrapped around her wrist as he pulled her towards him. Imogene's free hand landed on his chest as she fought to balance herself and his free hand gripped her shoulder before he leaned down and kissed her.

Stars. That's what she saw. Stars. She had always expected fireworks, music, she had heard, but stars seemed perfectly more suitable.

When Sherlock broke the kiss, Imogene's eyes remained closed. Every part of her body where he was touching her felt warm. "Well," she started, not quite sure what else to say.

"I apologize if that was a bit too informal," Sherlock replied. "I don't normally make it a habit of wooing women."

Imogene opened her eyes, gazing up at the consulting detective. He was smiling slightly and she couldn't stop the grin on her face. "As if you had to go through a lot of trouble to woo me when most of your compliments include insults as well."

"This is true."

Imogene reached up to straighten Sherlock's collar because she wasn't quite sure what else to do. She grinned, tugging slightly. "You like me."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Stop it."

"No I mean like you actually fancy me. . . . Your mum said you did and she called you Billy."

"She has a nosey habit, that woman and she has a big mouth."

"You kissed me."

"Yes, I did."

Imogene thought for a moment. "Am I your girlfriend?"

Sherlock cringed. "Girlfriend is such a childish term, don't you think?"

"You called Janine your girlfriend."

"Well, that wasn't real, was it."

"So what am I then?"

"I'm sure we'll think of something." Sherlock placed his hands on her shoulders. "You'll stay here won't you? Keep an eye on everyone."

Imogene nodded, ignoring the lump in her throat. "You just be better come back in one piece. Be careful . . . my brilliant, stupid man. Boyfriend," she added, watching him cringe again.

"Always." Sherlock pressed both hands on both sides of her face, tilting it up so that he could press another kiss against her lips before he hurried out the door. Imogene watched him go, smiling shyly. A crunching sound alerted to the second awake presence in the room and she looked over at Wiggins who she realized, horrified, had seen her whole interaction with Sherlock.

"Very sweet," he said, giving her a big grin.

"Oh shut up," Imogene responded. "Help me find a weapon just in case someone is foolish enough to break in here."

She looked to the door Sherlock just went through and sighed. She really hoped he would go off and do something stupid.

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><p><strong>AN: And there it is! I hope that seemed like something Sherlock would do in this situation :) I thought long and hard about that while writing this. Honestly, there's just one more chapter, guys :( I'll probably do some one shots added on but otherwise, we're almost there guys!**


	10. Human Error

**Disclaimer: I do not own the world of Sherlock Holmes or the BBC.**

**A/N: Happy Holidays, everybody! S/O to new readers: Sunshine4545, and loveisthewayforme. Thanks so much! Glad you are liking the story. This is the last canon chapter and I may do some one shots at the end :/ It's been really fun and I hope you all have enjoyed it just as much as I have! Thanks again for being a part of this with me. All credit for any part of the transcript goes to Ariane Devere from Live Journal.**

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><p>The dial tone rang in her ear and Imogene smiled, falling back on her couch, kicking her legs over the arm. The phone clicked and her grin widened when his droll voice echoed over the phone. "Mycroft Holmes."<p>

"Well hello darling!" Imogene enunciated. "How are you this fine day?"

There was a sigh on the other end and for a moment Imogene feared he might hang up. "Ms. Weaver. How did you get this number?"

"Oh now I can't give away all my secrets, can I?"

"What do you want?"

"See that's what I like about you, Mycroft, straight to the point." Imogene sat up. "I was hoping you could get me in to see that silly boyfriend of mine."

"I thought terms of endearment such as that were beneath the two of you," Mycroft responded, sounding aggravated.

"It's beneath _him_. I get a certain delight from the thought of him cringing every time I use that word and I haven't been able to do that since Christmas. So what do you say, Mr. Holmes? Can I see him?"

Mycroft sighed again. "Ms. Weaver you know as well as I do that that is impossible. He is a traitor of the state, never mind a murderer, under lock and key until he is exiled."

Oh she knew it well. When she and Mary had been rushed off to Mycroft's office of all places only to find John and no Sherlock, Imogene had known he had done just as she had asked him not to, something stupid. She had been devastated, only slightly comforted by the fact that he had done it to protect her, John and Mary and had demanded to see him so that she could slap him as well as probably snog the life out of him. Mycroft had turned her down with a bitter no and sent the lot of them on their way, warning them to not tell a soul about Magnussen, Appledore or anything else that happened that cold night and he especially did not want to hear about anyone else's involvement in the incident.

That had been months ago. Somehow, Mycroft had been able to sentence Sherlock to exile with strict orders that he would be serving his country from outside of it. They would be sending him away in three day's time and Imogene couldn't bear the thought of seeing him getting on a plane and that being their last time with each other, with so much left unsaid after Christmas.

"All the better reason for me to see him now. . . ." There was silence on the other end of the line. Imogene's heart pounded in her chest. She had known this was a long shot but still…. "Mycroft . . . please. I would really hate to have to beg."

"Imogene," Mycroft started and it was a testament of his tolerance of her that he had even used her first name and hadn't hung up on her. Maybe Mrs. Holmes was right. Maybe he really did like her. "I really wish I could but there is nothing I can do. My hands are tied."

Imogene chewed on her lip. The only way she could see her high-functioning sociopath then was one she knew he'd want her to avoid, one he'd never want her to resort to. Sherlock was going to be furious. "What if I untied your hands?"

Mycroft was silent again and Imogene knew he had figured it out, the clever man. But still, he took a breath and said, "Imogene I would be careful with my next statement if I were you."

"Since when have I ever been careful? I've been a professional Hacker since secondary school. . . . How else did you think Sherlock got the password to state secrets?"

It was what felt like days later, though it had only really been hours (time had crept by incredibly too slow for Imogene) when Imogene found herself standing outside of Mycroft's locked office in an unmarked building. They had come for her quite quickly, the police armed and ready. When she heard them coming, she had sunk to her knees, arms behind her head. Her things were all packed, she had put her shop up for sale on the internet. Mycroft had appeared before her, looking really disappointed. As they rode in a van together away from her home, he had shaken his head. "I don't suppose I'll ever understand people like you, so ruled by emotion."

Imogene had smiled. Maybe she was crazy, doing this all for a man but part of her felt, well relieved. She had been running, hiding really for years, getting by only with her skill. It felt nice to come clean and if getting to finally see Sherlock would come out of this, she could be happy. "I don't think I'll ever understand it myself, Mycroft. Maybe we aren't supposed to. Maybe that's the point."

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><p>Mycroft glanced at her as he leveled the key to the keyhole. "He won't be pleased."<p>

"No, I daresay he will be," Imogene replied, smiling softly. She took a deep breath. "I'm ready."

Mycroft unlocked the door, pushing it open and escorting her inside. Sherlock sat in an arm chair facing away from them, his head leaned back and his eyes closed. "Mycroft, your sense of dramatics can be dreadfully overwhelming. Dragged here against my will, locked in. If you wanted to see me I'm sure you could have done it much more tactfully."

Mycroft's lip practically curled. "Yes well, it wasn't I who wanted to see you."

Sherlock let his head fall backwards further before opening his eyes. Imogene tilted her head, smiling at the shock on his face. It was always pleasant to be able to surprise Sherlock Holmes. He stood up. "Imogene."

"Hello Sherlock," she responded.

He walked towards her, reaching for her hand. Mycroft cleared his throat, none too delicately. Sherlock frowned, looking at his brother as he folded his hands behind his back. "Would you mind allowing us a moment, Mycroft?"

Mycroft looked to Imogene. "I am afraid I cannot allow that Sherlock."

Sherlock glared at Mycroft. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"I'm sure my colleagues wouldn't think it . . . prudent of me to leave a traitor of the state alone with his accomplice."

"Accomplice?" Sherlock looked from his brother to Imogene and she could practically see the wheels turning in his head. He took a step back, his jaw tight with anger.

Imogene turned to Mycroft. "Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to allow us that moment, Mycroft."

"I can't just –"

"Please. Just fifteen minutes at best."

Mycroft sighed again before he walked out the door, locking it behind him. Imogene walked past Sherlock, setting her purse down on his vacated chair before propping herself on the edge of Mycroft's desk. Kicking her legs, she looked over to the handsome man still glaring at her over by the door. She cleared her throat. "You look well."

"My accomplice?" he muttered, the words coming out clipped.

"I kind of like the sound of it," Imogene told him, winking. "Kind of makes it sound like we're doing something naughty."

"How could you do something so absolutely stupid?" Sherlock yelled, walking towards her. "You told Mycroft you helped me? He would have never needed to know! You aren't supposed to be here! You aren't supposed to get caught!"

"Yes well now he knows and –"

"You promised me! You said you'd stay safe!"

"I did! I'm still safe!"

"You've been named a traitor! You're probably facing jail, if not exile. Why would you do something like this?"

"Because I love you, you great, stupid man!" Imogene glared back at him as his mouth snapped shut and he folded his arms across his chest defiantly. She did the same, holding her chin high. "Are you quite through yelling at me?"

Sherlock continued to glare at her for a moment and she continued to meet his gaze, refusing to back down. Finally the consulting detective sighed, running his hands over his face before he moved to lean against the desk next to her. Imogene unfolded her arms, placing her hands on the desk. Sherlock looked at the wall, his arms still crossed. "What about your shop?"

"The shop?" Imogene scoffed. "I probably make more money selling it than I ever did running it."

Out of the corner of her eye she could see the tension leaving his shoulders. "What about John? And Mary?"

Imogene shrugged, smiling slightly. Of course she'd miss them terribly, everyday . . . but she couldn't imagine her life without Sherlock, not now, not after everything. "John has Mary. . . . Mary has John. I've only got one high functioning sociopath. Besides," Imogene added, nudging his shoulder with her own, "you've already gotten a holiday and I'll be damned if you get another to yourself."

Surprisingly he chuckled and his arms finally completely dropped. Imogene looked down when she felt his fingers on top of hers. It wasn't quite holding hands but somehow it felt much more intimate. She kept her gaze on their hands as she spoke, "I know this is admittedly the stupidest thing I've ever done and I've risked expulsion changing my grades, twice. You may not truly understand why I did it, I know Mycroft doesn't and I sort of don't either, but sometimes that's okay, to not completely understand something. Sometimes it's okay to do crazy things, wouldn't you agree?"

She knew he couldn't possibly say no, not after everything he's done that was borderline psychotic.

"You never cease to amaze me, Ms. Weaver," Sherlock muttered.

"Yes well I suppose that that's a good thing, Mr. Holmes," she replied. "I would hate for you to get bored of me."

"I don't think that's quite possible. Besides, I suppose if anything we sociopaths have to stick close." Imogene looked up at Sherlock, eyebrows raised. He shrugged. "You are a sociopath, you realize that. A psychopathic personality, often criminal behavior with a lack of moral responsibility though I don't suppose you lack social conscious."

"Well we'll be able to fit in where ever we're going." Imogene grinned as Sherlock looked down at their hands, frowning slightly. "Hmm."

"What is it?" She asked.

Sherlock shook his head, a slight lift to the corner of his mouth. "Human error."

Imogene stared at him for a moment, trying to understand what he was trying to say. A large smile slowly spread across her face. "Is that you're way of saying you love me too?"

"Would you expect me to say it any another way?"

"No," she admitted. Reaching up with her free hand, she curled her fingers around his collar, pulling him towards her. "But we'll work on it."

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><p>Imogene hung on tight to Mary, who hung on just as tightly. "You'll write, yes?"<p>

"'Course I will," Imogene responded. "Everyday if I can, I promise."

Mary leaned back, placing her hands on the Hacker's shoulders. "Who on earth will I complain too when John leaves the toilet seat up?"

Imogene laughed, shaking her head. "I guess you'll just have to imagine what I say."

"I'm going to miss you getting to her," Mary said, placing her hand over her stomach.

"I'm going to miss that too." Imogene swallowed back tears, hugging her friend again. "Take care alright."

"You too."

The two women let go of each other. Imogene looked up as Sherlock and John shook hands, the Consulting Detective turning and walking to the plane. Imogene walked over to John, wrapping him in a tight hug. The man held here there a moment. "You two watch out for each other."

"We will," Imogene replied nodding against his shoulder. "I guess you might consider this a blessing of sorts, the two of us getting sent off together. I'll have to owe Mycroft for the rest of my life."

"He won't let you forget it either," John said with a slight chuckle. "I'll miss you Gene."

"I'll miss you more John." She let go of her old friend, walking backwards as she clutched the shoulder strap of her purse. She gave both of them a watery smile. "Until the next time then."

John and Mary smiled back, John wrapping his arm around his wife's waist. Nodding, Imogene turned and walked onto the plan. Sherlock was already settled in, staring off out the opposite window his chin on his fist, looking out the opposite window his other hand resting on his knee. She dropped her purse on the ground and sat down next to him, buckling her seat belt.

Imogene looked out the window to the runway as the plane started. John and Mary still stood there, holding hands, watching the plane. She looked back to Sherlock and reached over, as if to take his hand and then stopped, putting her hand back in her lap. She went to reach down to get her purse to retrieve a book when Sherlock's fingers intertwined with hers. "You're shaking," he muttered but he didn't let go.

She sat back up, smiling. "I'm nervous is all. First time on a plane and I've never been out of England before. It's exciting, a new adventure."

The plane lifted off the ground and Imogene leaned across Sherlock to watch, even though he protested. She watched as things became smaller, the ground farther away. She sat back, looking over at Sherlock. Imogene grinned at him slyly. "Well . . . I know the first thing we could do on our holiday."

Sherlock looked over at her, studying her expression. "Ms. Weaver, are you propositioning me?"

"And if I am Mr. Holmes?"

It was truly a joy to see the brilliant man so flustered. The detective looked at loss for what to say and he was saved from having to answer by a man appearing next to them, holding out a phone. "It's your brother."

Sherlock took the phone, exchanging a glance with Imogene before he put the phone on speaker. "Mycroft?"

"Hello, little brother. How is the exile going? Are you and Ms. Weaver enjoying yourselves?"

"We've only been gone four minutes."

"Well I certainly hope you've learned your lesson. I suppose Ms. Weaver will have to return as well; there would be no getting you back here without her. As it turns out, you're needed."

"Oh for God's Sake. Make up your mind. Who needs me this time?"

Mycroft hesitated, sighing exasperatedly. "England."

The phone clicked and Sherlock put it down in his lap. "Well . . . it looks like we'll have to put our holiday on hold for a while."

"Pity," Imogene answered with a grin.

The plane shifted, heading back towards the runway.

Heading home.

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><p><strong>AN: That's it! I'm definitely going to do some one-shots but that is it, folks! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks everyone! **


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